


The Dark Lady

by Maisey2k10



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humour, Powerful!Hermione, Romance, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 130,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maisey2k10/pseuds/Maisey2k10
Summary: Hermione’s life is changed forever when she is saved during the Battle of Hogwarts by her father. A man she didn’t recognise. A man of great power. A man legends were written about.  A man that gives her a new mission and sets her on a path to save the Wizarding World, through effectively, babysitting Tom Riddle. Rated for language, violence and sexual content! HGxTR pairing! Greyish/slightly dark Hermione! Powerful!Hermione! Time-Travel! Writing In Progress!
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 75
Kudos: 312





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All canon events and characters belong to J.K Rowling, everything else is all me. I’m not making any financial gain from posting this. Rated for language, violence and sexual content. 
> 
> Page count: 10

Everyone’s heard of Merlin. The Prince of Enchanters. A member of King Arthur’s Court. The enemy of Morgana le Fey, a dark witch and King Arthur’s half-sister. He is said to be the most powerful wizard to have ever walked the Earth. But, of course, this is common knowledge.

But there is a legend, a legend few know about, a legend that people have long since forgotten. Merlin is said to return from the afterlife every two hundred and fifty years, for one night only. The purpose of this...To conceive an heir.

Merlin would choose a woman, witch or muggle, to conceive with. He would return to the afterlife to watch over the mother of his unborn child and he would watch his child grow, learn magic and carry on the legacy. But in those times, centuries ago, neither the woman nor child would survive the childbirth, and if they did, they most certainly wouldn’t survive the illnesses and harsh winters. Merlin’s heir would be lost and he would be forced to wait another two hundred and fifty years to repeat the cycle.

But little do people know, legends are born from truth.

~000~000~000~

**Hogwarts - Saturday 2nd May 1998**

Merlin watched in pride over his heir, his daughter, as she battled and duelled; as she protected those younger than her, and those weaker than her. He watched as she fought against evil and as she destroyed one of the most horrifically dark objects he had ever seen, both in his life and death.

If he was asked to describe in one word how he felt, he would reply 'proud'. In all the centuries he had been in the afterlife, all the centuries he had watched over his children, his daughter was the strongest. She had survived.

In over a thousand years Merlin had fathered five children. Four of them along with the mothers had died in either childbirth or before reaching the age of two. But now, he watched his fully grown daughter, soon to be eighteen in age, fighting a war that shouldn’t have happened. That shouldn’t have been so harsh to her. That shouldn’t have forced her to fight for her life, to choose her life over the enemy’s.

He had watched her grow, the only child to survive, likely due to her strong magical core and the wonders of modern medicine. He watched her make her way through her muggle school, as an outcast due to her intelligence and magic. He watched her each day at Hogwarts as she continued to prove that blood had nothing to do with magical ability and intelligence. She stood by Harry Potter, the poor boy who had his life ruined by of a prophecy that never should have come to light.

He watched her sorrow, her happiness, her laughter. He watched when tears fell because of loss, because of bullying, because she was taken advantage of. He watched as her blood was spilt and she was tortured in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He wished he could ease her pain, he wished he could ease her suffering.

But he was proud of her. His daughter. His heir. His fighter. His Hermione. Her beauty was not recognised by those closest to her, but rather by those who despised her. Her intelligence rivalled by only one other in her year and even then she still won out with her grades and witty comebacks. Her loyalty and bravery were something he couldn’t help admire. Her kindness and selflessness to those around her, even magical creatures.

He could not lose her. He had already lost four children, four sons. He would not lose his daughter, even it meant going against the rules. He would not.

Despite never actually talking to his daughter, he loved her with everything he had in him. Through watching her as she grew, he had gotten to know her. He knew her habits, he could tell when she was lying or when she was trying to put up a front and mask her true emotions. He knew that her favourite colour was purple and her favourite fruit was pears. He knew that her favourite book was Hogwarts a History and that her most prized possession was her cat, Crookshanks, who had sadly died a year ago.

No, he would not lose her, he would protect her. He would save her, and in turn, save the Wizarding World. And that time had come when he saw her being hit with a fatal spell that would end her life in minutes.

~000~000~000~

Harry was a Horcrux. Hermione understood what the sick bastard, the Dark Lord, had done to her best friend and she was beyond furious. When Harry was brought to the entrance courtyard of the castle all fighting stopped. Harry was dead and in the arms of Hagrid.

Hermione could see Voldemort talking, likely taunting them, but she didn’t hear a word of it. Her attention was on Harry; her fury was already at breaking point.

Fred, Ginny, Ron, Luna, Remus, Tonks and Seamus. Her friends, her family; all dead. She had watched them die in front of her.

Fred... As he was crushed beneath a wall and Percy was severely injured as Fred pushed him out of the way as she rounded the corner. He died instantly, the smile still on his face as he had laughed at Percy making a joke.

Ginny... Bellatrix killed her with the Killing Curse and as a result, both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley killed Bellatrix together, overpowering her in anger and anguish. Ginny’s usually vibrant aura gone, dead.

Ron... Rodolphus Lestrange killed him with an archaic dark curse, but Hermione recognised it instantly. Ron collapsed to the floor as the curse passed effortlessly through his shield, as if it wasn’t even there. It hit him square in his chest and blood started pouring out of every orifice. His mouth, his eyes, his nose, his ears. He drowned in his own blood in Hermione’s arms. She knew the counter curse but she couldn’t reach him in time and when she did the curse was almost finished with him. Moments later, her clothing was soaked in his blood and he was dead in her arms. Hermione allowed her magic to take over and she stood and turned her attention to the elder Lestrange brother. A few short minutes later and Lestrange dropped to the floor, dead at her feet.

Luna... She died by being hit with a stray Avada, she couldn’t be sure who had cast it. The serene smile and glassy-eyed look was still on her face.

Remus and Tonks... They had been overpowered by Fenrir Greyback and his pack. She watched from a distance as they were ripped apart, defiled. But Kingsley and a few members of the Order dealt with them.

Seamus... He was killed by Dolohov. By the same fatal curse he had thrown at her in her fifth year in the Department of Mysteries. He dropped to the floor, not five feet away from her, a pool of blood covering the cobbled stone floor and soaking her shoes as it reached her. Hermione, in turn, killed Dolohov.

She couldn’t stop it, her magic. Hermione had always known she was different, even when she first came to Hogwarts. There was something different about her magic, something she couldn’t quite explain. It was more... potent. Yes, it was stronger than other witch’s and wizard’s magic. When she lost her temper she could feel her magic surrounding her in the air, begging to be released and put to use. She was positive that had never happened to any other person in the school.

Her ability to learn and perfect magic was unnatural. She had always been a brilliant student, studious and hard-working, but she picked up both magical theory and practical work instantly. She cast spells with very little effort; she could do it in her sleep. She knew that wasn’t normal, there was something different about her, but she didn’t know what, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.

When Hermione saw Harry’s dead body cradled by the kind half-giant, she snapped, like before when she’d mercilessly killed the murderers of her friends. She gripped her wand tightly, feeling her skin burning as in protest. She could feel her magic building inside of her, consuming her, until she couldn’t contain it anymore and it moved outwards and swarmed around the air. Everyone felt the strange and angry crackle in the atmosphere, but they didn’t know where it came from.

Suddenly, Voldemort’s blood-red eyes snapped to her and she saw them widen in surprise and his smug and taunting grin fell from his face as he stared at her. He looked at her strangely, slightly fearful maybe?

His eyes cut away from hers when Harry suddenly fell from Hagrid’s arms; he hit the floor before he stood up and faced Voldemort. Before she knew it, they had both cast their final spells and the jet of colours collided violently. The fighting around them continued as everyone realised this would determine the end of the war and both sides wanted as less enemies as possible to deal with in the aftermath.

Hermione was drawn into a duel with Rabastan Lestrange. They were fighting fiercely, him using dark curses and Hermione using magic that would be questionable, considered grey magic at best if brought up in topics. She caught his arm with a powerful Slicing Hex and her attention was drawn away from her opponent. She saw it, four first years were being cornered by two werewolves. She couldn’t understand what they were doing there; they should’ve been in the dungeons guarded!

Her eyes flashed and the anger that flooded during each death of her friends came back with a vengeance. She sliced her wand through the air with a considerable amount of force and dark magic. She had to resort to using certain dark spells for survival. The beam of orange light shattered Lestrange’s shield and hit him in the throat, he fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood, dead. Hermione didn’t have time to reflect on the fact that she’d once again taken a human life, she had to protect the first years.

She took off at a run, darting between duels and sending spells where she could to help those she passed.

“ _Bombarda Maxima_ ,” she yelled, her wand pointed in the direction of the two werewolves cornering the first years.

They were blasted away from the first years with such a force that their backs hit against the wall and despite all the noise around her, she heard the sickening cracks of a broken neck. Two more deaths to add to her count. She steered the first years into the castle and to the first room she found, a broom closet. She ushered them inside and she closed the door and warded it the best she could, putting some of her own magic into the wards to strengthen them.

She turned and headed back to the battle outside, intent on finishing what she’d started. She reached the entrance courtyard in time to see the two spells from Harry and Voldemort fade and they both collapsed to the ground, dead.

Hermione screamed in anguish, her throat burning, her eyes stinging and her chest feeling as though it’d been split open and her heart was being ripped out of her.

In her despair she was distracted and a spell was sent her way. It hit her directly on the back and she fell to the ground. A series of crosses on the skin of her back opened up and poured with blood. She knew this curse. _Sectumsempra_. But this was different, she had been hit with a _Sectumsempra_ during her time at Malfoy Manor and she could feel the difference in the spell. This was a modified version and she just knew that no one would be able to heal her. She was going to die.

 _Well, I’ve had a good run,_ she thought to herself as her eyes closed.

The Golden Trio was dead.

~000~000~000~

**The Meadow**

Hermione awoke with her face pressed against something soft and warm, and it tickled her cheek and nose. She opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself up until she sat up, her hands pressed against the soft surface. She looked around with curious eyes and she could feel the smile that pulled at her mouth.

She was in a beautiful meadow.

She could hear birds singing and chirping away in the distance, the bright blue sky was clear of any clouds and the sun beamed down on her, surrounding her like a warm, soft blanket. The meadow was filled with brightly coloured tulips and poppies, daffodils and daisies, sunflowers and lavender. The grass below her was the brightest shade of green she had ever seen and soft and warm, tickling her fingers as she pressed her hand further into it.

She slowly rose to her knees and climbed to her feet, her eyes darting downwards and taking in her new appearance. She was barefoot with the grass beneath her tickling her toes, she was clad in a soft and simple white sundress that fell to her knees and it had capped sleeves. The skirt flowed lightly in the slight breeze that hit her skin, and her hair was left down in ringlets and pinned back from her face.

There was no dirt, no blood, no injuries, but most importantly... There was no pain. She remembered the battle. Where was she and why was she not in pain?

She spun on her heel and her eyes searched her new surroundings when she heard a noise, a noise she was sure did not belong in the beautiful meadow. She saw a man heading her way. He was wearing light blue robes, which he left open showing off a plain white t-shirt and black trousers. He had short brown hair and they breeze disturbed it as he approached her, his fair skin looked to glow in the sunlight and his chocolate brown eyes twinkled. He had kind features, high cheekbones and a bright smile that showed perfectly white teeth. He didn’t look to be old either, Hermione would’ve said no older than late twenties, maybe early thirties. Hermione quickly looked down; feeling embarrassed over the fact the man was handsome, very handsome.

He stopped not far in front of her and she titled her head to look up at him, seeing as he was quite a bit taller than her.

“Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?” She asked. It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only possible explanation that would describe what she was experiencing.

“No, My Child, you aren’t, and this not,” he said kindly. His voice was soft and charming, she noted.

“Where am I?”

“You are in the phase before passing to the afterlife. You are not quite dead, but not quite alive either. It’s difficult to explain,” he chuckled.

“How did I get here?”

“I brought you here, I saved you from death,” he replied.

“Why? Who are you?”

“My name is Merlin.”

Her eyes widened and then she started laughing. He chuckled at her reaction.

“No, seriously, who are you?” She asked when she calmed.

“I truly am Merlin, Hermione,” he said kindly. She looked at him in disbelief. “Not what you were expecting?” He asked with a raised eyebrow and a look of amusement in his eyes.

“No, to be honest, I was expecting Merlin to be wearing purple robes with gold stars and have a matching pointed hat. Given his age, many, many wrinkles, silver-white long hair and beard and a staff with a glowing glass orb.”

He chuckled at her and he raised his hand and waved it in a small arch motion. Before her eyes, he transformed into the exact description she had just given. Her eyes widened and he laughed as he turned himself back into his previous, younger and handsome self.

“That was me back when I was alive; this is me when I was younger. Now that I am in the afterlife I can look any way I wish to, people don’t tend to be intimidated by my power when I look like this. Besides, I rather like the fashion of this century, very comfortable.”

“Your dialect is different than what I thought it would be,” she commented, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her dress nervously. She couldn’t help it. She was in the presence of bloody Merlin himself!

“I’ve got to keep up the modern times, haven’t I?”

She nodded dumbly, before clearing her throat to ask her next question. “Why did you save me?”

“That is a long story, My Child. What do you know of me?” He asked her, a curious look crossing his face.

Hermione bit her lip in thought. “Well...”

For nearly two hours they walked through the meadow together, with Merlin explaining in great detail about all that had occurred in his life. He explained how for the past one thousand years, he returned to the land of the living to create an heir and had been unsuccessful until, finally, Hermione was born and healthy.

Her head was spinning. Merlin was her Father!

No, it couldn’t be, her father was Richard Granger. She looked like him; she had inherited his wild curls, his love of books and his awful singing. Her mother was Jean Granger. She’d inherited her love of cooking, her smile and her silly but endearing habit of rearranging the fridge magnets to leave messages every morning.

He couldn’t be her father, he just couldn’t. It was impossible. Impossible!

“It’s impossible,” she whispered.

He looked down at her with a soft and kind smile on his face and with understanding held in his eyes.

“I am sorry to tell you that it’s not. Richard and Jean Granger adopted you when you were six months old. I’m saddened to inform you that your biological mother died in an accident. I can show you my memories if you would like.”

Hermione grimaced; she did not want to see _that_. “No thanks,” she replied. He chuckled at the look on her face. “I need a moment,” she whispered and then she sank to the floor. Merlin nodded and sat down beside her, close enough to give her comfort but far away enough that she had her own space.

 _Could it be true?_ She thought to herself. _Why would one of the most powerful wizards to walk the Earth lie about being my Father?_ It made no sense!

She didn’t know how long she sat in silence, trying to sort through her thoughts and filing away the new information she’d been given about her life, but she finally pulled her eyes from the ground and she looked up at him and her eyes searched his face, looking for any similarities between them. She wished she had a mirror. Suddenly a handheld mirror popped in front of her and floated in the air. She cautiously reached out and took it in her hand, holding it away from herself and staring at herself reflected in the surface.

She had soft mahogany curls that fell to the middle of her back, and they were a confusing mixture of wild and tame. She had delicate fair skin that had been scarred, but scars could be covered, at least her face didn’t bear evidence of her years at war. She had a small button nose, large chocolate brown eyes and small, plump pink lips with a perfect white smile. She looked up at Merlin once more and saw him looking at her softly and she took the opportunity to catalogue his appearance once more, this time taking her time in doing so.

Fair skin, chocolate brown eyes, mahogany coloured hair and a perfect smile. She looked at herself in the handheld mirror once more and sighed. She admitted to herself, begrudgingly, that she did look like him, more so than she did Richard Granger.

“I’m the only one to survive, your only child?” She said quietly.

He nodded and a sad look crossed his face. “During my living years I had a son, Egbert; sadly he died at the age of two due to illness. After my death, I returned to Earth to conceive an heir. He died in the womb along with the Mother. My third child died in the winter before his third birthday. My fourth child died in the womb. All of them boys. You are my fifth child and you survived. I suspect it’s due to modern medicine; childbirth and child development are a lot safer this century, and you have a strong magical core, stronger than most. I had already lost four children, four sons. I was not going to lose my daughter. I will not lose you.”

“I am sorry,” she said.

He smiled and nodded. “I am glad that you survived. I watched you grow.” She looked at him in surprise and he chuckled. “I watched you say your first word, take your first steps, read your first book, your first magical outburst, your first spell. I saw it all, I was there every step of the way, watching over you. You weren’t able to see me, but I was always there and you were never alone, My Child. I imagine that says a lot about you, that you survived. You are destined for great things, you _have_ done great things.”

“I have killed people,” she said disgusted at herself and she could feel her eyes tearing up as every life she took flashed through her mind. Evil or not, she had killed them.

“You saved lives, you protected people, you did what was necessary. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“I used dark magic.”

“There is no dark magic and there is no light magic. Magic is just magic. It just is. It’s what a person does with it that counts. Just because a spell is complicated and archaic doesn’t mean it’s dark. Just because it _can_ cause damage or harm doesn’t mean it’s dark. A simple Aquamenti can be used to drown someone. A simple Reducto can blow a person into smithereens if there is enough emotion and power behind it,” he explained.

She knew that, that was how she and Mrs. Weasley had killed Bellatrix. Their emotions, their sadness, grief and anger had powered their magic and it had reacted violently when they collided, instantly killing Bellatrix. Hermione wondered if there was something wrong with her when she felt sad in knowing that Bellatrix hadn’t suffered beforehand.

“But those that practice dark magic cannot cast a Patronus, it would kill them.”

“That is true,” he nodded. “However, as I said before, it’s what you do with the spell that counts. If you use the magic for horrific acts, the magic will _become_ dark. ‘Dark’ magic is contaminating. It can take over a person, poison them. I am of the understanding that you have witnessed it more than once in your life.”

Hermione nodded in response. She could think of a few examples; Voldemort, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Dolohov, Greyback, she could go on forever.

“So what am I?” She asked, changing the subject and looking down at the barley-month-old scar on her arm. The ugly red and jagged lettering reading, ‘Mudblood’.

His eyes fell to her arm and upon seeing the hurt that had been done to his daughter, he felt anger wash over him. He hadn’t felt anger in a long time and it took him a moment to take a calming breath and reign in his emotions. “You are a Half-blood; your biological Mother was a muggle.”

“Why a muggle?” She asked curiously.

“First of all, the mothers of my other children were all witches. A pattern was forming and none of them made it, neither did my sons. I wanted to try something different. Second of all, I wanted you to understand both worlds, Muggle and Wizarding. I wanted you to experience and witness the differences, to show you that muggles are not that different. You can easily survive in both worlds; you have knowledge of magic, but also of muggle traditions, history, art, education, politics, law enforcement, travel, behaviour and mannerisms. I know that you are an incredibly intelligent young woman. What was it that Dumbledore called you again? Ah, that’s right, the Brightest Witch of your Age,” he grinned at her proudly. “I am proud of you, Hermione. For every smile and laugh or frown and tear. For every kind comment or selfless act. For every spell cast, ‘dark’ and ‘light.’ For every friendship made and love found. For everyone you have protected or you had to eliminate.”

“What am I doing here?” She asked, feeling a blush heat up her cheeks at his words.

“The war that you fought in, it never should’ve occurred. The prophecy regarding your best friend, it should’ve never come to light. We’ve watched but we couldn’t interfere.”

“We?” She asked curiously.

“Yes, we. The Elders. We watch over the world, but we don’t intervene unless it is absolutely necessary. This war was never supposed to happen but we knew that Voldemort would be defeated, we did not, however, know as to what it would cost.”

“Elders?”

He smiled at her. “Always on the hunt for knowledge, just like I was in my time,” he chuckled. “The Elders are made up of the most powerful witches and wizards to walk have the Earth. Light and otherwise.”

“Like who?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” he replied amused.

“You also weren’t supposed to stop me from dying,” she fired back.

“I see your point,” he chuckled. “Besides myself there is Circe, Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, the Peverell Brothers and Morgana le Fay.”

“Sounds fun,” she said sarcastically.

He laughed at her. “Some days there are arguments, but for the most part everyone gets along nicely.”

“Again, why am I here?”

“I wish to change the events that happened, I wish to stop the suffering you, your friends and the world felt. We should’ve stepped in long before it happened. We had watched over Tom Riddle since his birth, his magic was different from the very moment he was born.”

“I’m sure Slytherin is proud,” she muttered bitterly and he frowned at her.

“Actually, he was disappointed in the way the last living Heir of Slytherin behaved.” Her eyes shot up to him. “Salazar is severely misunderstood.”

“He wished to banish Muggleborns from the Wizarding World. He didn’t think they were worthy. He kept a dangerous creature under the school. A creature that petrified me.”

“He is sorry that you fell victim to the basilisk. Salazar didn’t hate Muggleborns, he was simply wary of them. Back in those days, witches and wizards were few and they were in hiding. He was travelling when he met a witch, a witch that could manipulate things around her, including her body.”

“Transfiguration?”

“Correct,” he said proudly. “He wished for her to join him on his travels around the world, searching for more witches and wizards. However, before they could leave, the witch was brutally murdered by muggles, who had witnessed her changing into her Animagus form. From that point Salazar hated muggles, he realised they posed a threat to our kind. When he formed Hogwarts with the others, he didn’t wish to accept Muggleborns due to their ties to the Muggle World. Ideals and beliefs were seriously lost over the years, translations were misinterpreted.”

“Chinese whispers,” she said with a frown. “That I can understand, but why the basilisk?”

“It was for protection. The protection of the students and the staff, to protect the castle in case there was ever an attack from muggles. That’s why Hogwarts is in the middle of the Scottish Mountains, out of sight, out of mind. We have witnessed that blood has no tie with magic potential, power and ability. Dumbledore, Riddle, Harry, you,” he listed.

“Me?”

He smiled at her. “We both know you’re more powerful than most magical folk. The reason for that being, you have a very strong magical core, as well as I being your father.”

“I’ve always known I was different. Even at Hogwarts. I could cast spells no one else could. I read a magical theory and I understood it completely. It took but a few tries to perfect a new spell. It was effortless for me.”

“All the dangerous run-ins you’ve had over the years, most of them should’ve killed you.” She looked at him confused. “Your fifth year, you were hit by that curse from Antonin Dolohov, despite the fact that you silenced him, that curse would’ve still been powerful enough to kill you. The reason you survived was your magic, it was keeping you alive until you could be healed. Malfoy Manor, that should’ve killed you, but your magic kept you alive until you could be healed. You’re special, Hermione,” he said softly. “But back to the point at hand, I wish to send you back, but this time you will be prepared.”

“Back? Back to where?”

“The past, I wish to send you back to Tom Riddle’s school days. Your mission is to stop him from making any Horcruxes and watch over him, prevent him from becoming what he does.”

“You want me to babysit him?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have phrased it in that way, but essentially, yes. For the next year, you will remain here with me.” He could see the questions she wished to ask in her eyes. “You will remain here for the next year so that I can teach you. You will learn many magical skills that will aid you in your mission and keep you safe. I will teach you both Legilimency and Occlumency and you will master them, better than Severus Snape,” he joked and she smiled a small smile.

“I will teach you how to harness your magic, how to make your spell casting even simpler, how to strengthen your protective shields and offensive magic. I have been dead for over thirteen hundred years. I have witnessed a lot during my life and my afterlife. I will teach you spells that have long since been forgotten, that magical folk don’t even know exist anymore. I will teach you wandless and non-verbal magic because they are an incredible tool to have in your arsenal.”

“Wandless and non-verbal magic are extremely difficult.”

“Not really, you are powerful therefore everything comes easier to you, and back in my time wands never existed. The closest conductor we had to a wand was my staff. Wands weren’t invented until after my death, therefore once upon a time, all magic was done wandlessly.” Her eyes shone with anticipation and he chuckled.

“How do you know that I will accept this mission?”

“I have watched you, I have gotten to know you, I know you better than you know yourself, I know you would never turn down the opportunity to help someone who needs it. And also, you don’t really have a choice.”

She snorted. “So you will train me in the art of magic, to be like you and after a year I will be sent to Riddle’s time to change the past?”

“Precisely, the past should never be messed with, but this is now a must. Time works differently here. A year here would be twelve minutes on Earth. And you won’t feel the need to sleep or to eat. It will fly by, I promise you. I’ll give you a few moments to get your bearings and then we will start your training.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 10

**The Meadow**

“I am proud of you, My Daughter,” Merlin said with a smile and Hermione smiled at him in return.

It was time for her to leave for her mission. She had spent a year with her father, Merlin, not that it felt like it, time didn’t pass in the meadow, the place that had become her safety, her serenity.

She had finished her training and she knew more about her magic than she ever thought possible. But not only did she understand her own magic better, her father had also taught her everything he knew and everything he had witnessed in the millennia he had been both dead and alive. She knew magic that most didn’t even know existed; she knew magic that had long since been forgotten, magic that would more than certainly protect her from Tom Riddle, her target. 

The plan was to go back to the time of Tom Riddle’s Hogwarts years and stop him from making Horcruxes. Then she was to stop him from ever instigating a war and killing so many innocent people. Simple. Okay, not really, but her father had faith in her which made her feel better.

“Thank you, Father.” She had never seen someone look so happy at the mention of that one word.

“You have completed your training and now it is time for you to leave. You will be sent back to 1st September 1942, this gives you plenty of time to complete your mission. You know your cover story?”

“Yes, I will be a transfer student. My parents were killed by Grindelwald’s men and I escaped. I was homeschooled and I am now completing my education at Hogwarts, whilst staying with a cousin,” she recalled and he nodded.

“Do you have the De-ageing Potion?” She nodded in reply. “Clothing, school supplies and books are already waiting for you at Hogwarts, along with anything else you require. Arrangements have been made and you have access to your inheritance at Gringotts, a few drops of your blood against the vault door will reopen the accounts and it will all be yours. King Arthur paid me very well for my services,” he answered the question she had been about to ask him. “The goblins are bound by magic to not reveal your identity or existence once the records show that the vault has been activated. You do not have a vault key as you will not need one. Ask to be taken to vault zero-five-phoenix-Camelot.” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“The goblins may not treat you kindly until it is proven you are my heir. They will provide you with a silver dagger, which you will use to place a small cut on your left palm and you should press it against the vault door. No one but you will be able to access the vault, and once it has been reactivated, your presence alone will open the vault, hence the reason for a key not being needed. Now, it is time, Good luck, Hermione.”

“Thank you, before I go, what will my name be?”

“Hermione Nilrem,” he answered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Could you be any more obvious?”

“People are not as observant as they once used to be,” he chuckled and then he clapped his hands and his staff appeared.

Hermione took the opportunity to search her surroundings one last time, knowing she would never see the beautiful meadow that had been home to her again. She would miss the soft, warm grass tickling her feet, she would miss the peaceful sounds of the birds singing and chirping, she would miss the smell of the flowers, and the feel of the sun warming her skin. But most of all, she would miss the time she had spent with her father.

“What’s your first name? I’ve been here a year, I’ve learned a lot about you, but I don’t know your name.”

“That has long since been forgotten, people once referred to me as Emrys.”

With that he raised his staff and with a tap against the floor, Hermione vanished.

“Call for me and I will come.”

She heard his voice call in the distance as she felt herself spinning and spinning, being pulled into a black abyss.

~000~000~000~

**Hogsmeade Village - Monday 18th September 1944**

Hermione landed on her feet and wobbled slightly.

“Ow!” She muttered, bringing a hand up to her aching head, she felt slightly dizzy and wobbled on her feet again, but she regained her balance quickly and the pain and fuzziness vanished moments later.

She looked around and a small smile lit her face, she would recognise Hogsmeade anywhere, it was exactly the same as it had been in her third year. Quaint little shops, eye-popping displays and passersby slowly perusing the shops. The only differences being the buildings didn’t look as aged and the distinct lack of dementors and Death Eaters. She slowly walked down the pathway until she came across a discarded newspaper.

She caught something in the corner of her eye and she rushed over to the newspaper and picked it up. She cursed with what she saw.

“Father!” She called, making sure no one was around. Her father suddenly appeared in front of her.

“My Dear Child, you have been gone but ten minutes, what trouble could you have possibly gotten yourself into?” He asked, sounding amused.

She handed him the newspaper, he looked at her confused before his eyes focused on what had caught her attention. The date.

_Monday 18th September 1944_

“Ah, that is problematic,” he commented.

“Problematic? I’m two years later than we planned.”

“Time is a tricky subject that not even I can master.”

She sighed. “What are we going to do? By 1944 Tom Riddle has already created two Horcruxes, which means he’s already killed two people. He has already formed his Death Eaters in training and is Head Boy.”

“We’ll have to change the plan slightly, prevent him from making any more and try and find where he is keeping the Horcruxes and find a way to destroy them, preferably without killing him.”

“I already know how to destroy them.”

“Yes, but it would kill him, we don’t want that,” he reminded and she sighed. “The rest of the plan is as normal, keep your head down, don’t get in trouble, don’t get noticed. You will be a shadow, a fly on the wall which nobody pays attention to.”

“I know.”

“Now, let’s try this again,” he chuckled and he disappeared from sight.

Hermione sighed and made her way up to the Hogwarts gates, which magically opened for her, closing when she stepped through.

~000~000~000~

**Hogwarts**

She made her way through the grounds encountering no students or professors. When she reached the gargoyle statue, she stood there, not knowing the password.

Thankfully, someone she could only guess was a professor came walking down the corridor towards her.

He was wearing electric blue robes with neon red stars and a matching pointed hat, he had long auburn hair and a long beard and bright blue twinkling eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles. Something was familiar about him.

“Ah, My Dear, you must be our new transfer student, I’m Professor Dumbledore, Deputy Headmaster; I’ll be your Transfiguration Professor.”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, _bloody hell,_ she thought.

“Yes, Sir, I’m Hermione Nilrem,” she said, making sure to shuffle on her feet so that she looked nervous in a place she hadn’t been before.

“I am sorry that we are meeting under these circumstances, I am sorry for your loss, Miss Nilrem.”

“Thank you,” she muttered.

“Perhaps we should meet with Headmaster Dippet,” he suggested and Hermione nodded.

Dumbledore stepped around her and whispered the password and the gargoyles spun, revealing the staircase. Dumbledore took the lead, knocking on the door when he reached the top of the staircase.

He entered and Hermione followed after her, her eyes scanning her surroundings. The office she entered was nothing like Dumbledore’s cluttered but organised mess, with bowls of candy littering his desk. Headmaster Dippet’s was virtually empty, with simple furnishings and the portraits of every headmaster before him covering the walls. There were a few piles of parchment sat in front of him on his desk, but the rest was empty except for some ink and a quill.

“Armando,” Dumbledore nodded in greeting.

Hermione turned her attention to the man sat behind the desk in the wingback chair. He looked old, far older than Dumbledore had in her time. He didn’t stand when they entered; she wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to or if he physically couldn’t. He wore what looked to be a black sleep hat and brown striped robes, his hair a silver-grey colour and his eyes brown, with many a wrinkle surrounding them. He looked so frail Hermione wasn’t surprised that Dumbledore would take over as Headmaster within the next few years.

“This is Miss. Nilrem.”

“The transfer student,” he croaked.

Godric! He sounded like he would kick the bucket right then and there.

“We don’t get many transfers,” he commented.

“I was homeschooled, Sir,” Hermione replied quietly.

“Tragic what happened to your parents, it seems they prepared for the worst. We have received your OWL results, twelve subjects; that’s very impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“You will be allowed to continue with your studies, but first you must be sorted, it’s tradition,” the old Headmaster spoke, before nodding to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore retrieved the sorting hat. “The sorting hat will determine which house you will be most suited to,” he explained kindly.

She nodded. “I know, _Hogwarts, a History_ is my favourite book,” she said shyly.

He was surprised by her statement but he didn’t respond as he placed the hat on her head.

_“Well, Miss. Granger, or should I say, Merlin? You have travelled a long way from home, haven’t you? And for such a task, I am impressed. Where should we put you? You have to be cunning to pull off this task, however, you need to be unnoticeable and a new snake in the snake pit will surely turn heads. Slytherin is not a viable option. You are undeniably brave and I see you were a lion in your time; however, a Gryffindor that keeps to themselves will also be obvious, Gryffindor’s not for you this time around. Hufflepuff – you do have kindness in you, but you have been affected by what you have seen and what you have done, an unhappy Hufflepuff cannot be possible. That just leaves, Ravenclaw. You have undeniably one of the most knowledgeable minds I have ever had the pleasure of seeing into. You thrive on learning and a Ravenclaw that doesn’t interact will go unnoticed, students of the house may not even notice your arrival. This is good; this is the place where you will be safest.”_

“RAVENCLAW!” The hat bellowed.

Dumbledore removed the hat from her head and put it back on its stool in the corner of the room, and it went into hibernation until it was needed once more.

“Congratulations, Miss. Nilrem, I dare say after seeing your OWL results, Ravenclaw will suit you well,” Dumbledore said.

“Thank you.”

“Unfortunately, there is no space in the Ravenclaw dorm rooms as we only received word of your arrival five days ago and all dorm rooms are full. As a result, you will be given your own dorm room, which you will not have to share; we feel that it is best to give you some privacy in regards to your tragic circumstances. You will still have access to the Ravenclaw common room, if you so wish,” Dumbledore spoke and she thanked them shyly.

It just made her mission a whole lot easier.

Dumbledore waved his wand over a blank piece of parchment and her class schedule appeared and he handed it to her.

“This is your class schedule, as you can see you have several independent study periods, we assume that being an only child and being homeschooled, that you are used to independent learning and it seems to have benefited you greatly, as seen with your examination results. We did not want to overwhelm you and with you taking twelve subjects, we thought it best to allow you some time for independent study.”

“Thank you, Professor, I appreciate the kind sentiments,” she spoke quietly and with her eyes locked on the floor.

Merlin! It was hard to pretend to be a shy, anxious little thing. She was Hermione Granger...Nilrem; she was bossy, opinionated and as far from a pushover as someone could possibly be.

“I will take you to your dorm room; it must have been a long journey. It will give you time to change into your school robes before dinner.”

Hermione thanked them and she followed Dumbledore through the castle until he reached the third floor. The castle had the exact same layout as it did in her time; nothing was different, not even the cobwebs and fogged up windows. Except she knew that most of the secret passageways still existed, which she would be taking full advantage of. Knowing the secrets of the castle came in very handy and could only benefit her.

Dumbledore led her over to a painting on the wall. It was a painting of a meadow scarily similar to her meadow, with a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old. She had long brown curls and bright brown eyes, her skin was pale and her face had a smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks. The young girl was skipping through the grass with her white dress floating about her. She spun on her heel, laughing lightly and that’s when she noticed their presence.

“Password?” she squeaked out, apparently excited to have a visitor.

“Corvum Nigrum,” Dumbledore spoke. The little girl giggled before spun in a circle, her hair and dress floating around her and the painting swung open.

“This is where I leave you, Miss. Nilrem, dinner starts at six o’clock sharp. It is now two in the afternoon. That should give you plenty of time to unpack and explore your rooms and to find your way to the great hall. Your belongings should already be inside.”

“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore,” she muttered, shuffling on her feet.

“We are in hard times, Miss. Nilrem, some of us have witnessed the darkness first hand.”

He gave her a look that had her feeling like he was gazing into her very soul and she made sure to strengthen her newly learned occlumency shields as a precaution. No one was to know of her identity or mission, especially Dumbledore, and that had been her Father’s wishes. Dumbledore may have been classed as a ‘light’ wizard, but no one could deny that he was a manipulative old fool, and should he discover her secret, it would not end well for her. No doubt he’d have her doing things for the _greater good_ , rather than completing the mission she had been given. She couldn’t risk it, so as far as she was concerned, Dumbledore was not an ally, but he was not an enemy either. She had to tread very lightly.

“Until transfiguration, Miss. Nilrem.” He tipped his head slightly and then turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Hermione sighed in relief and stepped through the portrait sized hole in the wall and the painting swung closed behind her, finally allowing her chance to breathe.

She was surprised by what met her sight, she had assumed she would have her own bedroom, and possibly a bathroom, but she hadn’t been expecting an entire suite to herself.

She had her own common room and it was a decent size too and decorated in neutral colours which surprised her. The walls were cream and chocolate brown, the cream walls had chocolate brown accents and the chocolate brown walls held cream coloured frames with empty spaces, which she supposed was for her to put up her own photographs. She had a large fireplace which was unlit but she imagined it would look beautiful during the evenings and it would warm the room up nicely, especially during the winter months. She couldn’t wait to curl up in front of it with a good book. She had a comfortable looking brown leather couch and a matching armchair, with cream cushions and a cream wooden coffee table sat in-between them.

There was a brown carpet and a soft cream rug in front of the fireplace. Off to the left of the room was a small kitchenette and there was also a study desk with a chair and a dark bookcase beside it. There was a staircase off to the right and she left the common room to explore the upstairs.

She entered the room to the right, which was the bathroom. It was decorated in the same cream and chocolate brown as the rest of the suite, keeping to the same colour scheme. She had a large shower enclosure and much to her delight, a bathtub she couldn’t wait to take advantage of. She had a sink with a cupboard underneath it and a mirrored door cabinet above it, and there was a small linen closet which held towels and spare bedsheets.

She left the bathroom and headed into the final room, her bedroom.

It was beautiful. The walls were a calming blue and she had a soft white carpet. There was a white wardrobe and chest of drawers next to each other on the left wall. There was a large mirror in the corner of the room and her queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, the headboard against the wall with a small bedside table.

She walked over to the bed and she gingerly touched it. Silk sheets. She shook her head, obviously, her father had sent more comfort items, more than she needed but she had spent a year in a tent, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The soft white silk sheets covered her mattress and the quilt cover was made of the palest blue silk she had ever seen, with matching pillows, she could only imagine what it would be like to sleep in. She noticed that ‘Hermione’ had been sewn into the silk in the corners of the sheets and pillows and she chuckled with a shake of her head. Well, the house-elves certainly wouldn’t mistake her belongings for another’s if they were all monogrammed.

She caught sight of the mirror and curiously walked over to it; she had never been a vain person, but she wished to see what she looked like in the fashion of Wizarding 1940s.

She was wearing a soft floral dress that fell just below her knees and had capped sleeves. The material appeared to be white cotton with red flowers positioned strategically, on her feet she wore white shoes, with a two inch heel she would never wear again. Her hair was left down her back in ringlets but pulled back from her face showing her slender neck and chocolate brown eyes. She knew that her hair would be considered odd, seeing as it was longer than most girls in Wizarding 1940s, who tended to have their hair shoulder-length at best, whereas hers fell to her mid-back, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. It might make her stick out, but she could just wear her hair up and no one would notice.

The uniform though, that was one thing Hermione would have trouble wearing. She went to her trunk and pulled out the black robes, a grey blazer, a grey v-neck jumper, her grey skirt, a white shirt, a plain black tie and her grey knee-high socks and she found her black and appropriate t-bar shoes.

With a wave of her wand, she was out of her dress and wearing her uniform. She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. She didn’t like it; it was weird.

Her robes now had blue lining the edges and the Ravenclaw crest on the right side breast. Under her robes she had on the grey blazer which she didn’t like; it was itchy and heavy, making her look bigger than her petite frame actually was. Her skirt was longer than she was used to, it falling to her mid-shin and she hated it. Absolutely hated it! The material brushed against her skin every time she moved and she knew it was going to get on her nerves.

Her knee-high socks were made of the same scratchy material that her blazer was and she realised that she would have to do something that too. The only items she didn’t have a problem with were her shoes which were actually quite comfortable, her tie which had changed to blue and bronze stripes, her cashmere jumper and her white cotton shirt. She would have to change the blazer, socks and skirt in some way.

And so she decided to skip dinner, not really being that hungry anyway.

She went about unpacking her trunk and she was grateful that she found her beaded bag in there; it contained everything from her previous life, the only anchor to her time.

She sent all her clothing into her wardrobe and she almost squealed when she still had many pairs of jeans and jumpers, that wouldn’t be appropriate in the 1940s but she could still wear them in the privacy of her rooms, and she hung up her uniforms and newly purchased dresses and robes, before promptly changing into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, feeling like herself and much more comfortable. She sent her undergarments to pack away in her chest of drawers as well as the silk nightgowns, flannel pyjamas and several pair of short suits.

She then flicked her wand and all her books, from her beaded bag and trunk, followed her downstairs to the bookcase. She had to perform some Enlargement Charms and Warding Spells, but all the books soon fit into the bookcase. She had her school books, but also many a book on dark and grey magic that she knew were illegal, but it seemed her father had found a way to get them into Hogwarts undetected.

She then flicked her wand and all parchment, inkpots and quills were organised on her study desk neatly and precisely. She then dug through her beaded bag and found several old photographs which she would put up in the photo frames surrounding the room.

She found a photograph taken at Grimmauld, with every Weasley present, along with Harry, herself, Remus and Sirius. She promptly enlarged it and placed it in one of the two photo frames over the fireplace. She continued the process around the room until she came to a photo she wasn’t even aware of being in possession of.

It was a photo of Hermione and Merlin taken in the meadow. She didn’t know how he did it, but he had. He had been trying to teach her an elemental spell and it hadn’t gone to plan, the results of the spell pulling them both in a fit of laughter. She could see the happiness in their eyes when they turned to her and waved, acknowledging her presence. A smile pulled at her mouth, and she enlarged the photograph and placed it in the other frame above the fireplace, next to the one taken at Grimmauld.

She was done. She had been careful and made sure to only use photographs that wouldn’t reveal anything about the future or locations. Of course, she had to do a few charms to distort the clothing somewhat, but most of the time they had been wearing plain robes.

Hermione smiled at her completed work. She then turned on her heel and headed to her bookcase, pulling down the oldest copy of Hogwarts a History she had, luckily it was from 1939, most recent to her current time frame.

She spent all night reading and when she had found her answer to her uniform problems, she went to bed a happy witch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 8

**Tuesday 19th September 1944**

Hermione awoke from the best night’s sleep she had ever had; her silk bedding had been soft and cool against her bare skin where her nightgown had ridden up and she felt better than she had in a long time.

She heard the flapping of wings and sat up in bed, confusion entering her mind.

There was a beautiful phoenix flying around her room, before it swooped down and landed on the foot of her bed board, its talons gripping the material tightly, but she didn’t care.

The phoenix was tiny, maybe the size of a loaf of bread, indicating its age to be very young. It had soft-looking feathers, a fiery red and golden yellow, and she noticed a few of its tail feathers had blue hues in it. Its large black eyes were trained on her and she noticed the small package held in its beak by a bit of string.

“Is that for me?” she asked the small, rare creature.

The phoenix nodded and Hermione slowly reached over and removed the package from its beak and she jumped when the phoenix rubbed its head against her hand and she gingerly gave it a stroke.

Hermione then looked to the package and the note that accompanied it, and she thought it best to open the note first.

_Hermione, My Dear Daughter,_

_Happy eighteenth birthday, I am sorry that you cannot be with your friends but I hope this gift more than makes up for it. Her name is Athena, named after the Greek Goddess of Wisdom, Courage, Inspiration and Justice. She is now yours, treat her well as I know you will and she will show you loyalty and companionship._

_Try not to parade her around, as I know you won’t, but still, just a reminder. You wish to stay under the radar and having a phoenix will surely do the opposite. If you wish to contact me through letters, she will know where to deliver them._

_I know you will do me proud, My Daughter, just as you have since the day you were born._

_Love, Your Father_

Hermione looked away from the letter in surprise and up to the small phoenix.

“Athena,” she whispered. The phoenix flew away from the foot of the bed board and landed onto Hermione’s shoulder gently, being careful not to hurt her with her talons.

“It seems it’s just you and me, Girl. What do you think? Can we save the world?”

Athena gave an adorable squawk and Hermione chuckled and scratched Athena’s head. Hermione then opened the small box and realised that it had been shrunken down and so she enlarged it.

With a flick of her wand, the contents of the box emptied and settled in the room. There were several bags of treats for Athena, as well as a wooden perch for her to reside on and there was a smaller box, which she opened to reveal a thin silver chain with a phoenix pendant and with a sapphire for the phoenix’s eye.

Another note was at the bottom.

_Hermione,_

_As you know, the phoenix is my Patronus and I was elated to see that yours is too, please keep this pendant close to you and I will never be too far away._

Hermione smiled and slipped the pendant around her neck, feeling it tighten so it better fit her and the pendent fell into the valley of her breasts.

She too had been surprised that her Patronus was a phoenix, especially with it once being an otter. But it connected her to her Father. Having a phoenix Patronus was rare, _very_ rare, particularly with the only other known person to have the magical creature as their Patronus being Albus Dumbledore.

The phoenix represents strength and fire, which Hermione knew she had plenty of, and she knew she was stubborn and quick to anger, which she hated to admit. It represented growth and rebirth and in a sense, Hermione had been reborn. She wasn’t the same person she once was when she was eleven years old. No, now she wasn’t as naive, she was cautious and rarely trusted anyone. She was stronger and more knowledgeable; she had seen things no one should ever have to see, and done things no one should ever have to do. She was far from the eleven-year-old Muggleborn, Hermione Granger.

She was Hermione Merlin.

Hermione realised that she would have to head down to breakfast and if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself, she would have to enter with the rest of the crowd in order to blend in.

With a wave of her wand, she had Athena’s wooden perch set up and in the corner of the room. Athena nipped her finger affectionately and flew over to the perch, landing happily.

Hermione climbed out of bed and headed for her bathroom. After taking a shower she put her hair up in a messy bun and dressed in her newly improved uniform.

She put on her white shirt and blue and bronze striped tie, she put on her newly adjusted skirt, so that it sat at her belly button and fell just above her knees, she put on a pair of white ankle socks and her t-bar shoes. Afterwards, she put on her grey cashmere v-neck jumper and her robes over the top, leaving out the blazer completely.

She put her wand in her robe pocket and she laughed when she found a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses and she put them on too. She didn’t know why her Father wanted her to wear glasses, but it wouldn’t hurt to put them on.

She looked at herself in the mirror and chuckled; it surprised her how she actually suited the glasses, making her look more intelligent and far less intimidating in her natural beauty. She needed people to think she was weak, a loner and the glasses surprisingly helped. She nodded to herself in approval.

She grabbed the satchel that had been in her trunk and quickly read through her class schedule for the day. When she memorised the lessons, she left to her common room and put the books she needed into her bag, along with some parchment, quills and ink pots.

She took another look at the photos and smiled sadly; she should be attending her final year with her friends and not the future Dark Lord. The thought just reminded her why she was there. She would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, how hard could it be? Given her track record, the odds weren’t in her favour, she realised with a sad chuckle.

She would surely get some looks from her fellow students and from her professors but she knew they wouldn’t say anything because they would know about her circumstances.

She sighed and with a quick goodbye to Athena she left her room, and heading straight down to the great hall, she slipped inside with the bustling crowd and she made sure to sit at the end of the house table and she ate a simple breakfast, no one had noticed her presence for which she was grateful.

She quietly surveyed the great hall, students eating and talking, laughing, arguing and doing homework last minute, sights that she would see in her time, it was somewhat of a comfort knowing that some things never changed.

As her eyes flickered over the room, they landed on the Slytherin table and sat in the centre was her target, Tom Riddle. Her father had shown her a photo of him as well as his followers, “know thy enemy,” he told her.

She had been surprised at how handsome he had been, having only seen him as anything less than human, but she was floored at how much the photo of him hadn’t done him credit.

And though she loathed admitting it, Tom Riddle was an exceptionally handsome young man. Black hair combed neatly and a slight wave to his fringe that fell just above his eyebrow. He had a chiselled jaw bone, icy blue eyes, a straight nose and thin lips with pale and unblemished skin. She didn’t doubt he had a perfect smile that would melt the hearts of many a girl, and his uniform, or what she could see of it, was immaculate, not a wrinkle to be seen. He sat surrounded by his followers, quietly watching them as he sipped at his tea. He gave off the air of superiority and the appearance of a perfect little Pure-blood.

She snorted to herself. But she was not known for falling for a man’s looks, and she would stay that way. She looked at the young men surrounding him, most of them easy to identify.

Thoros Nott sat next to Riddle. His light brown hair, the same colour as his future son’s, but his green eyes darker and colder. He was tall and weedy and smirking at something that had been said to him. Next to Nott was Alfred Avery. Avery’s hair was a mixture between brown and black, it was messy like it hadn’t been brushed and it fell into his dark brown eyes. He appeared to be smaller than Nott, but just as thin.

Evan Rosier sat opposite Nott with his back to her. Short, dark brown hair that swept into his eyes slightly, and a large frame with broad shoulders. Sat next to Rosier was someone Hermione would recognise with her eyes closed, Lestrange, Richard Lestrange, the soon to be father of Rabastan and Rodolphus. He had short black hair and was a similar build to Rosier, except he was taller, she could see he had tanned skin, but the rest of him had his back to her.

The next boy sat on the other side of Lestrange, Hermione never wanted to see again, Antonin Dolohov, the man who had almost killed her at the young age of fifteen. He had light brown hair that fell covering his ears and broad shoulders, and despite not being able to see his face, she knew him to have eyes so dark they were borderline black, a straight nose and a chiselled jaw.

And finally, the last boy was easily recognisable as Abraxas Malfoy, with the signature white-blonde hair. He appeared to be of a larger frame than both his son and grandson; his shoulders broader but he was easily smaller in height, his blonde hair fell to just below his ears, shaggier than she had seen Draco’s and Lucius’.

She was up against six teenage boys and the future Dark Lord. She had her work cut out for her and she hoped everything would go to plan, but based on past experiences, she knew not to get her hopes up as nearly everything almost always went wrong.

~000~000~000~

Hermione had been to her lessons and thankfully none of her professors had asked her to introduce herself, probably feeling sorry for the orphan who lost her parents less than a week ago. They didn’t pull her up on her uniform either; she had turned a few heads, but no one paid attention longer than a few seconds before turning away from her.

She was now at her last lesson of the day, Potions, and unfortunately, it was with Slughorn. She had not missed the biased Potion’s Master, showering praises on his favourites and sucking up to students with famous or politically powerful parents.

She knew she would have to introduce herself the minute his eyes landed on her. A large grin lit his face and she had to physically stop herself from groaning and repeatedly hitting her head against the table.

She had only been there for five minutes and she already detested the man, it seemed the only thing that had changed about him in the future was the added wrinkles, everything else, the same, _exactly_ the same.

He clapped his hands gaining the attention of the class. “Class, we have a new student, a transfer,” he gestured to Hermione.

She tried, she really did, but she was unable to stop the glare she sent his way, but he didn’t seem to notice. He practically dragged her out of her seat and in front of the class, who all stared at her. She knew she would have to act like the shy and anxious new girl, though it went against her nature.

“Please tell the class your name.”

“Hermione Nilrem,” she spoke quietly and looking down at the floor, refusing to make contact with anyone.

“And why are you here?”

“I’m a transfer.”

“Yes, but why are you a transfer?”

“I don’t think that’s important, all that matters is that I am here to complete my education,” she felt herself bristle, but she hoped it didn’t show in her voice. 

“I suppose it doesn’t matter, but we are intrigued, we don’t get a lot of transfers.”

Hermione took a deep breath and looked up, openly glaring at Slughorn and no longer trying to hide the fact that she disliked him.

“Then you’ll have to remain curious, I may have been previously homeschooled, but I was taught that it is rude to pry into other’s private matters.”

Slughorn looked scolded with his cheeks turning pink, Hermione knew she shouldn’t have snapped, but she had always had a short fuse. She quickly looked down at the floor, giving the appearance of embarrassment and nervousness and Slughorn cleared his throat and allowed her to return to her seat.

Class was pretty uneventful.

~000~000~000~

Hermione had just escaped potions and was making her way towards her rooms, when she was stopped.

“Miss. Nilrem,” a voice called.

She sighed, stopped in her steps and slowly turned around. She was surprised to see Tom Riddle gliding towards her. Not walking, bloody gliding.

“Yes?” she said quietly but politely.

“I thought it best I introduce myself, I’m Tom Riddle, Head Boy,” he gave her a once over, his eyes roaming her figure from head to toe. He kept an annoyingly passive look on his face as he did so.

He gave her a dazzling smile that she was sure would have every girl dropping onto their knees before him, but it didn’t affect her; the prettiest things were usually the deadliest. 

“Well, thank you for the introduction, Mr. Riddle, you’re the first to actually show manners, but I’m afraid I must be going, I have a familiar I must check up on, nice to meet you,” she gave a polite smile and then turned and walked away.

 _Point, Hermione,_ she thought with a snigger.

“Nilrem, I haven’t heard that name before, is it _muggle_?” he said with a slight sneer she was sure she wasn’t meant to actually hear, and his long legs had him catching up to her and walking beside her before she’d even managed to get a few steps away from him.

_So predictable._

“No, I’m a Half-blood, my father a wizard and my mother a Muggle.”

“Perhaps I could show you around the castle; it must be confusing being in such a large and new environment, and I only wish to make your transition easier for you. You were homeschooled, correct?”

_Fishing for information, Riddle?_

“Yes, I was homeschooled. Thank you for your kindness, but I don’t need a guide, my father attended Hogwarts and he was very specific with the details. In addition, the floor plans for Hogwarts are in Hogwarts a History and I have memorised them, besides, I’m sure you have better things to be doing than showing around the new girl, I wouldn’t want to take up your time.” If he was surprised he didn’t show it.

“Ravenclaw,” he muttered, but she heard him.

_Try Gryffindor._

“Miss. Nilrem?”

Hermione stopped and turned around at the sound of a second voice.

 _Thank you for your timing,_ she thought relieved.

Professor Dumbledore walked up the corridor; she felt the atmosphere become tense as Riddle and Dumbledore stared at each other, both with hatred in their eyes.

“I was wondering if I may have a word with you.”

“Of course, Professor,” she answered.

“I best be going anyway, Professor, Miss Nilrem,” Riddle spoke, tipping his head.

“Mr. Riddle,” she nodded in reply and he quickly disappeared down the corridor and around the corner, leaving her alone with Dumbledore.

“You should be careful, Miss. Nilrem, Tom Riddle is a brilliant but very dangerous you man.”

“Thank you for your concern, Professor, he introduced himself to me and offered to be my guide, I turned him down,” she explained.

He looked relieved but he quickly hid it from her. “Good, that’s good. I just wished to discuss how your first day went; I heard there was a slight mishap in your potions class.”

“I’m sorry Professor, Professor Slughorn made me introduce myself and he was prying into my personal life, asking questions that I did not think were appropriate, especially in front of a group of people I don’t even know the names of. I politely declined to answer why I was a transfer student, but he was very persistent and I lost my temper.”

“It is understandable, Miss. Nilrem.”

“It’s only been a week,” she whispered, hoping to appear broken.

“I will have a word with Professor Slughorn.”

“I appreciate it, Professor, thank you.”

“As for dinner, I did not see you present in the great hall last night,” Dumbledore spoke.

“I was feeling overwhelmed and didn’t feel up to attending, dinner was something I always did with my father.”

He looked at her sadly. “Will you be attending tonight?”

“I can’t say for certain, Professor, in all honesty, I don’t feel hungry.”

“You can’t skip meals, Miss. Nilrem,” he scolded softly. “Your father wouldn’t want that for you, if you don’t mind me saying so, you already look under the weather.”

“My father and I went through some hard times after my mother died, she was a muggle and killed by Grindelwald’s men. They came back two years later because they wanted my Father’s help, he refused and we were forced to flee or home. We ran out of food before he was found. I escaped because of him,” she said sadly. “I don’t miss meals on purpose, I am just not hungry; my body isn’t used to eating so much food.”

He looked at her sadly. “If you do not feel up to attending dinner that is understandable, please call for Jinx, he will bring you food that will not upset your stomach.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she replied, fighting back a sigh of relief when he nodded and finally left her alone, allowing her to return to the privacy of her own rooms.

She had become far too good of a liar and she didn’t like it, even if she only substituted a few lies for the truth and vice versa. She had been forced to flee; only it was with Harry and Ron, and she was underweight, after running out of rations during the hunt.

When she entered her room, she put her satchel on the coffee table and slumped down on the soft couch, Athena flying over to greet her soon after.

“Hey, Girl, how was your day?” She squawked in reply and Hermione chuckled. “Well it’s only been a day and I’ve already snapped at a professor and had a run-in with Riddle, I just hope he forgets about me. What was I thinking taking this mission?”

She groaned and threw her head back to rest against the back of the couch. Athena rubbed her head against Hermione’s cheek and she chuckled.

“Thanks, I needed that. I’ve survived my first day, but I have a feeling it’s only going to get more difficult.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 8

**Hogwarts - Wednesday 4th October 1944**

It had been two weeks since Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts and thankfully she’d had no more altercations. Professor Slughorn left her alone as did the other professors and students, and she liked it that way. When she wasn’t in her classes, she was doing her homework or research in her rooms or the library, which was a ten minute walk from her rooms or a five minute walk if she used the secret passageways. She had started attending dinner, but it was only a couple of nights a week but it seemed to appease Dumbledore’s worries, otherwise, she ate in her room and she was slowly putting weight back on.

And just as the sorting hat had predicted, the Ravenclaws hadn’t noticed Hermione’s distinct lack of appearances in the Ravenclaw common room or the dorm rooms. She liked the solitude; it allowed her to get on with her task and not have to deal with any teenage drama or get involved in the gossip mill of Hogwarts. The solitude allowed her to avoid everyone. Out of sight, out of my mind.

She had kept her head down and no one paid attention to her, especially not Riddle, but that was about to change when she stepped into her Arithmancy class that morning.

It was Wednesday morning, her first lesson of the day, when she was approached by her Arithmancy Professor, Professor Ellis. She was the most arrogant woman Hermione had ever met, and she would swear to every deity there was that Ellis was the actual female version of Draco Malfoy. She was a Pureblood from France, but she spent most of her time in Britain, so she only had a slight French accent.

Hermione knew instantly that Professor Ellis didn’t like her and they couldn’t be more different. Where her hair was long and curly and shot up in a messy bun, Professor Ellis’ was blonde and tied back into a sleek and elegant bun. Where Hermione was all soft features and ivory skin, Professor Ellis was sharp angles and tanned. Where Hermione was average height but still appeared to be small, Professor Ellis was tall and thin.

“Miss. Nilrem,” Professor Ellis spoke in a sharp tone as she stopped in front of her desk.

Hermione looked up from her parchment and everyone turned to watch the scene unfold. The class only consisted of twelve students, Hermione and seven other Ravenclaws and four Slytherins, two of them being Tom Riddle and Richard Lestrange.

“Yes, Professor?” she responded, she knew what was coming; she had been waiting for it since day one.

“I have overlooked your uniform violations given your circumstances, but I cannot any longer. Continuous infringement will result in detention.”

Hermione looked at her blankly and then she bent down and dug through her satchel, pulling out _Hogwarts, a History_ , which she held out to the pompous professor. Why couldn’t the woman get married already, get pregnant and then go on maternity leave? Better, never return at all. But if she was as awful outside of the classroom as she was inside, Hermione understood why she didn’t have a significant other. 

“Page three hundred and twenty-seven, section two, chapter three, line six,” Hermione said, giving the professor a look of challenge.

The professor took the book from her and opened the book to the correct page and Hermione watched as her eyes scanned the page and a frown appeared and she looked away from the book.

“As you can see, Professor, I am not in violation of the dress code here at Hogwarts. The rules state that a blazer or robes must be worn, but not both. Skirts must cover the knees and mine does, and furthermore, stockings and knee-high socks don’t have to be worn, but they are advised due to the cold temperature in the castle. I, however, find them irritating and itchy.”

The professor just stared at her, so Hermione reached over and took the book from her before putting it back in her satchel.

“Thank you for your concern, Professor,” she said with a fake smile and a tilt of her head, an innocent look on her face, but inside she was elated at besting the harpy of a professor.

~000~000~000~

Tom Riddle was intrigued and it wasn’t often that happened. The cause of this was the new girl, Hermione Nilrem.

She had first caught his attention two weeks ago in potions class. Good old Sluggie had dragged her in front of the class and made her introduce herself, making even him feel a small amount of pity. He wasn’t surprised that she wouldn’t even look up from the floor, but what had surprised him was that she had openly glared at Slughorn and snapped, showing a side he would never have expected from her. Given her appearance, he presumed her to be weak and insignificant, yet he had never seen anyone snap at Slughorn before and as much as he hated to admit it, it had brought him a sense of amusement, seeing Slughorn flustered and bumbling. It wasn’t the least bit suspicious the way she appeared embarrassed and shy afterwards.

He had later introduced himself; he was the dutiful Head Boy after all and he had a reputation to upkeep. It came as a surprise when she hadn’t been affected by his appearance, he hadn’t yet met a girl that wouldn’t fall at his feet, even the female professors couldn’t resist his charms, yet she had, this little waif of a witch. She’d even looked bored, a look he had mastered over the years, but then again, he had mastered many things over the years, the first being his ability to mask his true emotions and thoughts from others, only showing them what he allowed them to see and what they wanted to see.

A fake smile here, a few charming words there, and everyone was eating out of the palm of his hand. It bored him, no one was able to resist him, well, no one except the old fool, Dumbledore. Witnessing her reaction to him wasn’t an everyday occurrence and for him to say that it hadn’t piqued his interest the tiniest bit would be lying. 

He tried to discover useful information on her, even going so far as to have his Knights following her as often as possible, but his efforts had all been for nothing seeing as every single one of them had been completely useless and learned nothing of value or interest. It was fair to say he wasn’t happy with their progress and they felt his unhappiness for several hours. All he knew of the newly sorted Ravenclaw was what he had learned from her himself, that she was a Half-blood and previously homeschooled.

Her uniform wasn’t up to the standards of the dress code either, she didn’t wear the mandatory socks or blazer, her hair wasn’t styled and perfect like the other girls in Hogwarts, even the first years. Tom hated glasses and she wore thick-framed glasses, as if she was purposely trying to annoy him. The reason he hated glasses, they prevented him from being able to look into someone’s eyes, from discovering their intentions or emotions. But he had to admit to himself that the glasses actually suited her, they made her eyes bigger, which was convenient for him. When he had introduced himself to her he had made sure to look into her eyes, he’d always been good at reading people and their eyes gave them away, the glasses magnified her chocolate brown orbs. What he saw confused him and he didn’t like that feeling.

Everything about her; her height and small frame, demeanour, stance, appearance, they all gave off the impression of weak and unimportant, but her eyes told a different story. They held fire, strength, knowledge, pain and suffering. The exact opposite.

His curiosity grew when he became aware of her presence in all of his classes and he was the only student to take eight NEWTs, a feat that hadn’t been done in decades, there was a reason he was the best student in Hogwarts. But Lestrange had mentioned she was in his herbology class and Rosier had told him that he had seen her in his care of magical creatures class; that would be a total of ten NEWT classes. It just wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible for anyone given the constrictions of class schedules and even more so, she was a witch.

Witches weren’t known for their intelligence and they weren’t known to take an active interest in anything that would prepare them for a life and career outside of Hogwarts. What they were known for was finding the perfect wizard to wed, so they could be the perfect house-witch and look after the children. He got the feeling this witch, this Hermione Nilrem, was the exception and she had no interest in anything but her studies.

He had watched her from a distance and learned her routine; she stuck to it like spell-o-tape. He had observed that the only time she was off schedule was dinner, sometimes she would make an appearance and sometimes she wouldn’t.

It was two weeks after her arrival at Hogwarts that he was at the point of giving up trying to figure her out, trying to understand what was going on inside her head, trying to understand her behaviour and mannerisms. She was intriguing but not enough to take his attention away from his Knights; he did have plans to make, after all, world domination didn’t just happen.

But then something happened to gain his attention once again. He was in his arithmancy class and he sat back and watched the scene unfold

Professor Ellis, who he knew had taken a liking to him, as had the other professors, had called out the girl on her uniform violation. There was no mistaking that she was the one to have gained Ellis’ ire, there were only three witches in the entire class and the rest were wizards. All three witches were Ravenclaws, and she was the only one to not be wearing the mandatory uniform. He watched carefully for her response, which was to pull out a book and recite a series of reference numbers, indicating the exact placement in the book she wished Ellis to see.

He and Lestrange shared a curious look.

“As you can see, Professor, I am not in violation of the dress code here at Hogwarts. The rules state that a blazer or robes must be worn, but not both. Skirts must cover the knees and mine does, and furthermore, stockings and knee-high socks don’t have to be worn, but they are advised due to the cold temperature in the castle. I, however, find them irritating and itchy.”

He gave a low chuckle when she reached over and took the book from Professor Ellis, placing it back in her bag, before sitting up straight and clasping her hands on the table. She knew how to work the system; she knew how to work around the rules.

“Thank you for your concern, Professor,” she said in a sweet tone and a tilt to her head.

Professor Ellis made her way back to the front of the class and was silent for the rest of the lesson, as the students continued to work on the arithmancy problems that were on the board.

Hermione Nilrem raised her hand not long after, claiming to have completed the task. The look on Ellis’ face was priceless.

Tom’s attention was once again, firmly on the girl.

~000~000~000~

**Hogwarts - Friday 12th October 1944**

A week later Hermione was sat in her charms lesson. As usual Professor Hilton was late. She had been sat for ten minutes listening to Dolohov taunting a Hufflepuff. The girl -which Hermione hadn’t bothered to learn the name of- was crying, sobbing really, with tears running down her face and snot running from her nose.

Hermione clenched her hands into tight fists; her anger was building and she could feel her magic swirling inside of her, begging to be released, begging to be put to use and teach the bully a lesson, but she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t give herself away, she had a mission to complete and remaining under the radar was paramount.

It was even more frustrating that no one was helping the poor witch. The Slytherins were laughing with the exception of Riddle who was reading his book and not paying attention to anything or anyone around him, the Gryffindors watched sadly but didn’t get involved, the Ravenclaws ignored it and the other Hufflepuffs looked terrified, as if they wanted to burst into tears themselves.

Hermione couldn’t take it anymore, she knew she had to keep her head down, but she’d spent most of her life defending the innocent and it was in her blood, she couldn’t deny who she was. She couldn’t allow this witch to feel so frightened in a place that was meant to be her safety, that was meant to be her home. A voice in the back of her mind told her that it was a bad idea and that her father wouldn’t be pleased if she drew attention to herself, but then she knew he would be.

She knew he would be proud of her for defending the innocent and defenceless witch, even if it meant making her mission more difficult in the long run. He couldn’t be angry at her. He’d told her that he was proud of every life she had saved and every person she had defended and helped, why should now be any different? She stood up so fast her chair fell backwards, clattering against the stone floor and everyone turned to look at her.

Dolohov spun on his heel to see Hermione with her fists clenched by her side, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks had a pink tint to them and her hair appeared to give off sparks. His eyes widened slightly before he moulded his surprise into a smirk.

She hated him.

She wanted to punch him in the face.

She wanted to hex him.

She wanted to _kill_ him. Again.

Her anger built.

~000~000~000~

Tom had been reading his book, drowning out the laughter and taunting of his followers when suddenly he was hit with a wave of magic he had never felt before. It was potent and strong, overwhelming even. It was thick and heady, suffocating and heavy. The magic swarming the atmosphere in furious swirls and waves, settling over him and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The magic, it was beyond something he had felt before and he felt it pushing against his chest, forcing him to take a deep breath and control his breathing lest he suffocates.

He sat up straighter and turned his head to see what everyone was looking at. Much to his surprise, it was the girl, Nilrem. Her hair was sparking, little flashes of magic looking as though lightning was coursing through her. Her hands were clenched tightly by her sides, her knuckles turning white. Her cheeks were turning pink as a flush settled over her skin. Her eyes were narrowed into tight slits, aimed directly at one Antonin Dolohov, and her gaze was murderous.

He found himself admitting that there was something oddly beautiful about her, something intriguing in the way her magic reacted to the cold fury that ran through her body. And she was the one he was getting the reading off, the reading of power, pure, undiluted power.

“What are you going to do, Ravenclaw? Hit me with your book? Poke me in the eye with your quill?” Dolohov taunted. The other Slytherins sniggered, but he watched carefully, patiently waiting for her response.

His eyes were glued to her. She remained silent, appearing to be taking calming breaths, trying to possibly control her magic. He didn’t blame her; if what he felt was true, if she lost control, it would likely demolish the entire classroom. He had been in a similar position during his earlier years at Hogwarts and had since learned to control it.

“What, no clever words?”

“I suggest you sit down before you get hurt,” she said calmly, her voice not betraying the pulse of rage in her magic swarming the room.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one to notice the sensation as several others shivered and pulled their robes tightly around themselves to protect them from the chill in the room.

“You have no idea who you are dealing with.”

Dolohov seemed to register the threat and pulled his wand, training it on her.

“If you think that because I was homeschooled, I don’t know how to duel, then you would be severely mistaken. I have had very skilled teachers,” she spoke, her voice was still calm and collected, but there was a tone of warning, something others would’ve missed but he heard perfectly.

Tom wasn’t sure what she was capable of, but his intrigue with her had risen upon discovering the strong magical aura she carried with her. He wanted to see what she could do, even if it meant she injured his Knight. After all, that’s what they were there for.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Dolohov called.

Nilrem stood in place, a bored look on her face as the stunner whizzed over her shoulder, hitting the wall. The room filled with gasps and noises of surprise.

“ _Incendio_ ,”

Nilrem simply stepped to the left, then moving to the right to step out of the way of Dolohov’s body-bind. The little show continued for several minutes, and she had yet to be hit by a single spell, hex or curse, and she had yet to draw her own wand. Tom could see the anger that radiated through Dolohov’s body. He was furious that the little witch had bested him so far, and all without the need of a wand or words.

“ _Cr_...”

Nilrem seemed to have recognised the Unforgivable just by the wand movements. _Curious,_ he thought. And of course he would later to punish Dolohov for attempting to do the Cruciatus in public. Thankfully the room was filled with unobservant students who hadn’t noticed Dolohov’s slip up.

As Tom’s narrowed gaze moved from Dolohov to Nilrem, her wand was in her hand and Dolohov was flat on his back before he had the chance to blink. He couldn’t even remember if she had spoken. Nilrem simply walked over to Dolohov and looked down at him with a blank mask that could rival his own.

“I did warn you, I suggest you focus on duelling techniques rather than picking on defenceless students because it makes you feel better about yourself. Find another way to work out your issues that doesn’t involve hurting others.”

Nilrem muttered the counter curse and calmly walked back to her desk, picking up her chair from the ground and she sat down, just as Professor Hilton stepped into the room.

“Right, class, let’s begin, Dear Boy, what are you doing on the ground?”

Tom kept his attention on Nilrem, who appeared to have returned to her shy state, but now he knew it was a rouse. She was hiding something.

Tom Riddle always got what he wanted and he wanted to know Hermione Nilrem’s secret. And, he had to test her power, to see what she was capable of and he knew just when and how to do it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 7

**Hogwarts - Friday 12th October 1944**

Hermione was in inner turmoil; she knew she shouldn’t have gotten involved but she couldn’t stand by and do nothing, it went against everything she believed in and everything she stood for. She just hoped Riddle hadn’t deemed her behaviour suspicious. When she peeked at him, he had been staring at his book, so hopefully, he hadn’t noticed.

No such luck as she entered her final lesson of the day, defence against the dark arts. Professor Welkins was a little strange but far better than Quirrell, Lockhart, Fake Moody and Umbridge combined, so she couldn’t complain. She was a little upset that she didn’t get the opportunity to be taught by the famous Professor Merrythought, though word around the school was that old age had taken its toll on her ability to teach and her sanity, and so she retired at the end of the prior year.

Professor Welkins announced they would be duelling and Hermione couldn’t help the groan that slipped out, thankfully no one heard. They only duelled once a week, but Hermione struggled to stop herself from going into battle mode and using dangerous spells to protect herself. Seven years was a long time to fight a war and her battle instincts would never waver, that she couldn’t control.

“Pair up,” Professor Welkins spoke, clapping his hands as an indication to get a move on.

Hermione sighed and banged her head against the table.

“It seems that you and I are partners by default, Miss Nilrem.”

Hermione groaned and lifted her head off her desk to look up at Tom Riddle, looking down at her with a charming smile on his face.

“I suppose we are, Mr. Riddle,” she replied, her eyes searching the room and seeing that everyone else had already paired up, all the girls with the girls and the boys with the boys, leaving only Hermione and Riddle. If she didn’t know any better she would think he had planned it, and she did know better; he _had_ planned it.

She stood from her chair, and removed her wand from her robe pocket, gripping it tightly in her hand and feeling the safety and comfort it offered her helping to calm her. 

~000~000~000~

“Don’t worry; I’ll go easy on you.”

“Thanks,” she growled and he laughed at her. A rich sound that he had perfected over the years. The girls in the room sighed and glared at Nilrem for being the one to cause his laughter.

The desks were spelled against the walls and she took her stance, one he recognised as defensive and he felt the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk, but he pulled it back, his face remaining stoic and giving nothing away.

He was the first to make a move and he started off small, getting a feel for her duelling style. She seemed to be on the defensive, casting only Shielding Charms when needing to and dodging lighter spells.

He stepped up his game, throwing curses at her that were slightly more advanced and he noticed her stance changed. Her body wasn’t rigid or tense and rooted to the spot, rather she moved gracefully, her wand arm and wrist making fluid, elegant motions as she defended herself against his attack. His eyes flickered around the room, a few pairs had ended their duel and were stood against the wall either gossiping or watching.

There was more floor space available and now they circled each other. He was impressed; no one had lasted this long in a duel against him, even when he was holding back.

He narrowed his eyes; she was good, but how good?

He once more stepped up his game, throwing spells that were considered grey magic at best, but it didn’t faze her in the slightest, she didn’t even bat an eyelash. Her face remained a blank mask as she just cast a stronger Protego or moved quicker, but still gracefully.

He looked around, more couples had finished, but there was still enough to keep attention away from him. It was time to really test her. He’d spent years researching and practising dark magic and now was a good a time as any to put it to good use.

He cast a curse, one that if it hit its mark, would cause the feeling of being burned alive, taking several hours to wear off. The pale green beam left his wand and headed straight for her, he knew that a simple Shielding Charm wouldn’t stop it.

He was surprised to see that her eyes widened a fraction and then they narrowed, but still, no emotion showed on her face. She couldn’t possibly know that curse, it had taken him two months to find it and it was in a book Lestrange had found in his family library, a rare, highly illegal book.

How could she possibly know the curse?

“ _Plenam Clypeus_ ,” she whispered softly and there no trace of worry or fear in her voice. It was soft and calm.

He watched as a shield surrounded her entire body, looking something similar to a thick yellow bubble. His curse was absorbed by the shield effortlessly, as if he hadn’t even cast it and the yellow bubble surrounding her, dropped.

_What the hell was that?_

He saw a change in her fighting stance; the blank mask dropped from her face. She stood taller, her eyes filled with fire, her cheeks burned pink and her hair sparked those little lightning bolts he’d seen earlier that day. He’d finally broken down her cool mask of indifference.

There it was again, the powerful magic surrounding her was magnificent, suffocating, overwhelming and he felt his own magic vibrating in response. He felt it trying to reach out to interact with hers, to explore and meld, but he pulled it back within him, forcing it down.

In the seconds it had taken him to reign in his own magic, she had thrown a curse at him, one he had never cast himself, but the wand movements were familiar. It was a curse that would cause his internal organs to rupture. It wasn’t exactly _dark_ , but it was dark enough that he knew of it, and if it were to hit its target, it would cause a great amount of pain, and if not healed quickly, death would follow.

“Shit,” he cursed in a moment of disbelief and he dropped to the ground, knowing a _Protego_ -no matter how strong- wouldn’t be able to stop it.

He looked up at her and the magic around her seemed more potent, stronger if that was possible, and he didn’t think it was, until now. There was an aura surrounding her, a silver and green one to be precise and the colours shone around her, melding and twining together, bathing her in an unearthly glow as it surrounded her, its movements reminding him very much of a snake slithering across the ground. It was fluid and graceful, silent and deadly. He wasn’t sure what it was, he wasn’t sure if the others in the room could see it either.

He stood from the floor, his tall frame straight and tense with his magic building, swirling around him and beginning to infect the atmosphere. Nilrem seemed to feel it too, as she stood even taller, her back ramrod straight and her wand gripped tightly in her hand.

“ _Sanguinem_ ,” he hissed, the curse headed in her direction. The curse would cause blood to expel from every orifice, not a very pleasant one to witness, and he knew that only one shield would protect against it, one he was sure she wouldn’t know existed. 

“ _Nigrum Foramen_ ,” she muttered softly.

He watched in surprise as a small vortex-like form appeared in front of her. It swallowed the curse whole without effort and it disappeared from view, leaving her completely unharmed and glaring at him murderously. What was that shield? He had never seen anything like it before.

“Miss. Nilrem, Mr. Riddle!”

They both looked away from the intense gaze they held to see that Professor Dumbledore was staring at them both from the doorway of the classroom. They were breathing heavily and sweat had begun to slick their foreheads at the strength it took to perform such magics. Dark magic was not known for being easy, one of the reasons being the physical strength it required to remain in control of the magics.

“That is quite enough, you have proven yourselves capable duellists,” he spoke, his voice sharp and disapproving.

They both noticed the entire class had focused on them, gawking and gossiping. He looked to his followers, their eyes wide and darting between him and the witch, clearly surprised that their leader had not won his duel; rather it seemed to be a tie.

“Miss. Nilrem, please come with me,” Dumbledore spoke curtly.

She frowned but didn’t hesitate to retrieve her satchel, placing it on her shoulder and walking out of the door.

“Classes are almost over for the day, I suggest you set this classroom straight. Professor Welkins,” Dumbledore nodded in farewell.

He gave one last look at Tom. Tom clenched his teeth and bristled when he saw the smugness held in Dumbledore’s eyes before he swept out of the room.

“Right class,” Welkins cleared his throat. “Let’s get this place righted,” he clapped his hands and the students went about putting things back where they belonged.

“What the hell was that?” Rosier asked him, as they left the classroom and made their way down to the Slytherin common room.

“That is a good question,” he replied slowly, thoughtfully. All his followers were flanking him. Lestrange, Rosier, Avery, Malfoy, Dolohov and Nott, and students stepped aside as they walked down the corridors.

“I’ve never even heard of those curses before,” Nott commented.

“They’re considered grey magic, bordering on dark. Miss. Nilrem is hiding something, she should not know those curses, most don’t know of their existence. She is not what she appears. She appears weak, yet she is strong. Her demeanour is introverted, yet she stands up for herself and others. She appears calm, yet she has a short fuse. There’s something about her.”

His followers all shared a look.

“What?” Avery asked, almost afraid to learn the answer.

“She’s powerful.”

“Powerful?”

“Magnificently so, did you not feel it during the duel?”

“Well, the atmosphere did feel a little tense, but we assumed it was you,” Nott commented. “The feeling was similar to your own magic.”

“No, it was not.”

They shared slightly worried looks. It seemed their leader had become interested in a girl, they had never seen that happen in their seven years at Hogwarts, and if she was as powerful as The Heir of Slytherin believed, he would either destroy her or recruit her, regardless of her blood. If there was one thing Tom Riddle loved, it was power.

“Just how powerful are we talking?” Dolohov raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not yet sure, but I’ve never felt something so potent. It was _enlightening_.”

“You’re interested in her,” Malfoy stated.

Malfoy was Riddle’s favourite; he could get away with a lot more than the others could, he was able to make a statement the others would’ve been punished for saying aloud.

“She is intriguing,” he mused. They knew not to respond. “I want you to bring her to me, the Room of Requirements. She’ll be with Dumbledore, if not try the library, she’s a Ravenclaw after all, they live there.”

~000~000~000~

“Would you like to tell me what happened in class, Miss. Nilrem?” Dumbledore asked, sitting behind his desk in his office and Hermione stood in front of it.

“I lost control of myself. Before I came here I duelled for my life, not for education. My instincts came into the equation when I felt threatened,” she said quietly.

“I am truly sorry for all that you have suffered, Miss. Nilrem, but those spells I could not identify, unidentifiable spells are not permitted in Hogwarts.”

“I am sorry, Professor, it won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t Miss. Nilrem, this is a warning. Next time disciplinary action will be taken.”

“I understand, Professor, thank you.” She turned and went to leave his office.

“Miss. Nilrem, your uniform...”

“ _Hogwarts, a History_ states that a blazer or robes must be worn, but not both. A skirt must cover the knees and knee-high socks or stockings are advised due to cold weather, they are not mandatory. I could give you the page reference.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it, Miss. Nilrem.”

Hermione left the room and sighed, slouching against the wall in relief that she had managed to avoid detention. She had never had detention in her life, and she was not going to start now.

“You can’t lose control, Hermione,” she berated herself.

She pushed herself off the wall and made her way down to the third floor and towards her dorm room, she had a feeling that she was being followed and so not wanting to give away her rooms, she walked straight past the portrait and headed to the library.

She slipped into an alcove and then she heard voices.

“Where did she go?”

“She was just here.”

Hermione looked around the corner to see a shimmer before a Disillusionment Charm was removed.

It was Malfoy and Rosier.

She took a deep breath and gripped her wand that was in her robe pocket. She stepped out of the alcove.

“Why are you following me?”

They both jumped and turned around and she smirked at them as their eyes widened.

They looked her over, for the first time truly looking.

“I can see what he means about her demeanour versus her behaviour,” Malfoy muttered to Rosier, who nodded in response.

She raised an eyebrow when they didn’t answer and Rosier cleared his throat.

“Tom would like to speak with you.”

“Tom?”

“Tom Riddle, Head Boy,” he clarified.

“And why does he wish to see me?”

“We don’t know,” Malfoy shrugged. “He never said, he just wants to speak with you.”

“I have a familiar I need to check up on.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Thought not,” she sighed and then turned on her heel, heading in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?” Rosier asked.

She heard them catch up to her, before falling into step either side of her, likely to prevent her running away, they were so close it wouldn’t take much for them to grab her and pull her towards their destination if she refused to go willingly.

“Seventh floor,” she answered, turning her head slightly to look at him.

“Why?”

“That’s where he’s waiting for me, is it not? The Room of Requirement?”

They faltered in their steps, allowing Hermione to put a few steps between them before they quickly caught up to her.

“How do you know about that?” Rosier asked her cautiously.

“I knew it existed before I even arrived here, no more questions if you please, I want to get this over with.”

It didn’t take long for them to reach the seventh floor and a large arched door was waiting for her, as well as Dolohov, Avery, Lestrange and Nott. When they became aware of her arrival, their mouths pulled into smirks in unison, which she admitted was a little creepy.

“Good luck, Sweetheart,” Dolohov grinned cruelly, tipping his head to look down at her.

“You’re just mad I knocked you on your arse,” she said lightly. He glared in response and made to pull his wand.

“Tom does not want her harmed,” Nott said, stopping Dolohov from doing so.

“He won’t protect you forever,” Dolohov sneered at her.

“I don’t need his protection,” she snorted.

“You have no idea what he’s capable of,” Avery warned, a fearful look flashing in his eyes.

“Well you have no idea what I’m capable of either. He didn’t win our duel, did he? Which I’m certain is something you’ve never seen happen before,” she responded, before placing her hand on the door and she pushed it open, taking a step inside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 10

**Hogwarts - Friday 12th October 1944**

Hermione closed the door behind her and steeled herself. She could feel the comfort of her wand that was now safely tucked into her hair and she strengthened her occlumency shields. She knew that in this timeline he was learning Legilimency, but she didn’t know how far he had progressed, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

She turned around and almost snorted at what she saw. The room was large with stone walls and flooring and several stone columns throughout the room. There was a large rectangular table with dark wingback chairs surrounding it. Three on each side of the table and a larger and more regal-looking chair at the head of the table.

Further behind the table were five stone steps, leading to a large podium where a throne sat. It was made of silver metal, with green cushions and two large snakes moulded out of silver, entwining above the back of the throne, and two smaller versions mounted on the armrests.

 _‘Loves himself a little,’_ she thought with a snort.

“Mr. Riddle,” she spoke calmly, when he stepped out from behind a column, likely having been observing her from the moment she stepped into the room. “And may I ask why my presence was required so quickly that you had to send two wizards to collect me? The gentlemanly thing to do would be to collect me yourself.”

He smirked at her.

“You sound disappointed.”

She snorted, very unladylike and he was annoyed when he found that the behaviour amused him.

“I am merely disgruntled that I was interrupted from entering the library.”

“Ravenclaws,” he muttered.

“That yours?” She nodded to the throne behind him. “A bit pompous, don’t you think?”

“Slytherin,” he shrugged in response, looking the perfect picture of ease, but she knew better.

“Believe me, I am aware of who you are,” she responded dryly.

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding just how true her words were. “And just who is that?”

“From what I’ve heard, Head Boy, top student in his year, Slytherin Sex God, resident Hogwarts hottie, every girl swoons over you. You’re charming, intelligent, helpful, respectful.”

“You’ve been asking about me?” He spoke, a smirk pulling at his mouth.

She laughed at him, she actually laughed at him; he felt his anger make an appearance.

“Merlin, no! I’m not a sociable person, maybe it’s because I’m an only child and homeschooled, I’ve never had to socialise and to be honest, I can’t be bothered dealing with the ineptness of most people, particularly those that partake in ideal chatter and gossip,” her answer surprised him. “But mostly I prefer to observe, I like to learn about a person without having to interact with them. I’m quiet, and therefore no one takes notice of me, the things I’ve heard about certain people is astounding, they don’t even know I’m there.”

“For example?”

“For example, did you know that Grant Mully, Ravenclaw, is cheating on his girlfriend, with not just one, but three other witches? Or that Sarah Longston, Ravenclaw, is failing both charms and transfiguration?”

“Only Ravenclaws?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nope,” she said with a pop of the ‘p’. “Kyle Livingston of Hufflepuff is struggling with his identity. He’s no longer attracted to his girlfriend, he’s got his eye on Gary Shaw of Gryffindor. Laura Knapper of Gryffindor cheated to get herself on the Quidditch team, she slipped a potion into her competitor’s pumpkin juice before tryouts. Bruce Juggs of Slytherin is worried that his Father will leave his inheritance to his idiot cousin.” He watched her with intrigue. “What’s the matter, Mr. Riddle? Eagle got your tongue?” Her mouth twitched.

He cleared his throat. “You are not who you appear to be.”

“There’s no point in acting the way I do in class, you can obviously see through my act. So you’ve figured it then? I’m not actually shy, I’m not reserved, I’ve got a short fuse and I hate bullies, they push my buttons more than anything.”

“So I’ve seen,” he commented lightly, his thoughts relaying what he’d seen and felt that morning in potions class. “You intrigue me,” he admitted slowly with a frown. “You’re hiding something. You’re powerful, very powerful. I can feel it, your magic is surrounding you, infecting the atmosphere and filling the air. It’s more potent, I assume, when you’re angry, but its presence is still there, even now I can feel it.”

“You’re powerful too,” she nodded at him. “I felt it filling the room; I’ve only felt an aura that strong twice before, impressive.” He seemed to stand taller. She snorted. “So arrogant.”

“I have reason to be.”

She laughed loudly. “You’re handsome, I’ll give you that.”

“You think I’m handsome?” He smirked.

“I’m not blind, I do, however, take points off for you being so narcissistic. You’re handsome and you know it, that’s not an attractive quality to have.”

“The entire female population of Hogwarts doesn’t seem to mind.”

“I’m not your typical witch; I don’t let something as trivial as appearance affect me.”

A challenging look crossed his eyes.

He walked closer to her and stopped in front of her, barely inches from touching her. She had to crane her neck upwards to remain in eye contact with him; he was far taller than her five-foot-six frame, against his six-foot-one figure.

“You’re telling me that I don’t affect you? That you’re not attracted to me?” He whispered, his voice taking a husky tone, that if she were a less self-respecting witch who didn’t know of Tom Riddle’s true self, she would’ve happily snogged him senseless. 

“You don’t affect me, I’m not attracted to you,” she deadpanned.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

He looked into her eyes and was surprised to see that she was telling the truth. He was always able to tell a lie from the truth, even as a young child and he knew she was being completely truthful, he felt his forehead crinkle into a frown.

He had never encountered someone that didn’t care for his looks, that didn’t fall for his charms. It was unsettling. His eyes narrowed slightly, he cast a silent _Legilimens_ and entered her mind, he instantly hit against a shield, a strong one, and he withdrew immediately not wanting her to know what he’d done. He was both surprised and suspicious. Why would she know occlumency? Why would she have her shields up, even now? She couldn’t possibly have known about his ability of Legilimency, only a select few did, they just weren’t aware of just how good he was at it. He wasn’t far off from being a master.

“Surprisingly, not everyone bows down to you. Now, please step back, you’re too tall and my neck is killing me,” she scowled. He surprisingly listened to her and stepped back, but still remained close enough to touch her if he so wished.

“Those curses, where did you learn them?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the door, getting comfortable. He had never seen a witch do something so unladylike.

“Of course, you don’t have to tell me, I’m sure Headmaster Dippet would love to know that a student was practising magic such as that on Hogwarts grounds.”

Hermione laughed. “Such a dutiful Head Boy,” she tutted. “It’s a shame it’s bullshit. You would never tell Dippet. First of all, how did you know what those curses were? Your tone of voice showed familiarity, whether you just know of them or you’ve cast them yourself, it doesn’t matter. In which case, where did you learn them, Mr. Riddle? They’re unknown to most. Second of all, if you tell Dippet, I would likely be expelled and then you would never know where I learned to cast them. And finally, don’t think I don’t know of the curses you cast yourself. One of those was a dark curse and would’ve easily killed me if I hadn’t known how to cast the shield to defend myself against it.”

She was quick; he would give her that, cunning too, which surprised him. It annoyed him that she was able to do that. That she was able to catch him off guard. And if wasn’t the first time. She’d been surprising him since the moment he became aware of her arrival at Hogwarts.

“Those Shielding Charms, I have never come across them in any books, even the rarest of ones.”

“They’re long forgotten, haven’t been used for over six centuries.”

“Then how do you know of them?”

He was getting agitated and she must have felt it too because she no longer lounged against the door, instead she stood straight with her eyes narrowing on him.

His magic was lightly swarming around them; her magic seemed to respond to his. He felt it lick against his skin; it tingled pleasantly and sent shivers down his spine. His eyes were focused on nothing but her.

“How do I know of them? I’m not going to tell you, it’s more fun to watch you squirm. You’re always so calm and collected, not a hair out of place, I like being the one that frustrates you,” she smirked. “It’s amusing and I don’t get a lot of entertainment here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Riddle, I have studying to do and a familiar to get back to. By the way, those _friends_ of yours are not very clever. I knew they were following me from the moment I stepped out of Dumbledore’s Office, not very Slytherin of them, wouldn’t you agree?”

She pulled the door open and stepped through it; the Slytherins in the hallway stopped talking and observed her carefully. She didn’t look any different, in fact, she looked amused, pleased even and certainly not as if she had faced their feared leader’s wand.

“Slytherins,” she greeted with a tip of her head and smile pulling at her mouth, before she waltzed past them and down the corridor, feeling their eyes on her retreating back. 

“I’m not letting this go,” Tom’s voice spoke, carrying down the corridor and to her ears.

She turned around and walked backwards, laughing lightly at the frustrated look in his eyes, but it was hidden well.

“Of course not, Mr. Riddle, like I said, frustrating you is my only entertainment around here, I can’t study twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, that’s just sad, even for a Ravenclaw. Until our next meeting,” she gave a mocking curtsey and then turned and walked down the corridor, slipping out of sight when she rounded the corner.

The Slytherins stared in disbelief at what they’d just witnessed, before cautiously turning their eyes to their Lord. They were surprised to see his reaction. He wasn’t furious like they had assumed he would be, no, it was something much more disturbing. Something much more frightening. He still had an irritated look on his face, but the corners of his mouth were twitching, as if he was trying to suppress a smile.

His followers shared a worried look, but they too tried to mask their smirks.

It seemed Miss. Nilrem had caught the attention of Tom Riddle, a feat never before done by another witch. They knew he had bedded his fair share of witches -he was still a teenage boy after all- but he never showed interest in them, not like he had with Miss. Nilrem. And that thought alone was truly terrifying.

She had no idea what she was in for. When Tom Riddle turned the charm on, no witch was safe. And the group of Slytherins had a feeling they would be seeing a lot more of Hermione Nilrem.

“She admitted that her act around the school is exactly that, an act. She doesn’t act as other witches do. She has manners, but only deems to use them in public. She’s intelligent and powerful, _very_ powerful; be mindful not to ridicule another student in front of her, it seems she dislikes bullies. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, it wouldn’t be good publicity. She is very observant, you’ll have to watch out for her, watch what you say or do in public at all times,” he warned them.

“What are you going to do, My Lord?” Malfoy asked.

He smirked. “Turn on the charm, of course. She’ll be spilling her secrets before she knows it. And what secrets they will be.”

~000~000~000~

Hermione had made sure that she hadn’t been followed and then spoke the password to her rooms. The little girl waved at her, before running off into the distance and the portrait swung open, allowing her access to her rooms. Athena greeted her and then Hermione started pacing, back and forth.

She had messed up!

She was supposed to stay off the radar, she had failed. Tom Riddle had noticed her, seemed to have taken an interest in her, made it his personal mission to discover her secrets.

Fantastic!

She had screwed up, she had failed her mission. The future would never be saved.

“Father,” she called.

“Yes, My Child,” he spoke.

Hermione turned around to see her father standing by the fireplace.

“I’ve failed,” she said, a panicked held on her face.

“How so?” He asked curiously.

“I’ve been detected, Riddle’s noticed me; he seems to have noticed the differences in my fake demeanour to my real self. We had to duel and he was testing me, his curses got stronger and darker and I had to defend myself. I used my shields, and in return, I sent back some questionable curses. I know I shouldn’t have but my mind just told me that I had to fight and win.”

“That is not your fault, your mind is conditioned for survival after years of battle,” he said softly.

“He knows I’m powerful, he said he could feel my magic during our duel. I intrigue him and he’s not going to stop until he knows me and my secrets, I can no longer do this mission, I have been compromised.”

He shook his head. “No, you have not. He does not know of your true identity, in fact, this may be helpful to us, easier.”

She stopped pacing and looked at him confused. “How so?”

“There has been a change of plans, you will no longer be required to stay under the radar, instead you will join him.”

She stared at him. “Are you insane? I can’t join him, he’s a psychopath.”

“Maybe so, you were sent back to change the future without killing Tom Riddle, you say that he is intrigued by you, yes?” She nodded slowly. “If you join him, you may be able to influence his decisions. Plant a seed of doubt and show him a different way of life, one that doesn’t involve killing and harming others, that doesn’t involve prejudiced and discriminatory thoughts and feelings.”

“It’s impossible; he believes that it’s what Slytherin wants.”

“Then you will show him that it’s not.”

“And how am I supposed to do that without revealing who I am?”

“I have no idea,” he chuckled when she huffed. “You will no longer focus your attention on Horcruxes; we’ll put that on hold for now, but don’t allow him to create any more. Your main focus is to infiltrate and...”

“Manipulate?” She snorted. He chuckled at her.

“Yes, this way is simpler, easier too, you’ll be safer. If he values you, he will protect you.”

“I don’t need his protection,” she huffed indignantly.

He smiled. “No, you don’t. You are a strong one. Be careful how you go about this.”

“I’m not changing who I am; I won’t just bow down to him and give him control over me. I’m going to make him do all the work, if he’s intrigued and he wants to know more, then he’ll have to work for it. If he wants information and for me to join his stupid cult, then he’ll have to beg,” she spoke. “Is it weird that I’m finding pleasure in this new mission?”

He laughed lightly and shook his head. “No, it’s not. After what you have seen and experienced at the hands of Tom Riddle, it’s only normal that you feel this way.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said softly.

He nodded and smiled and then disappeared from view.

~000~000~000~

“If she finds out that you’re keeping information from her, she won’t be happy.”

“Salazar,” he greeted with a smile. “And what information would that be?”

Salazar smirked. “There is only one way to destroy a Horcrux without killing the host, which you very well know. Which means your intention was to never have Hermione stay undetected. Your original plan was to have her join my many greats of a Grandson. You wanted him to notice her, to be intrigued by her,” he stated confidently with a smug look on his face. “What do you know that you aren’t sharing?”

Merlin sighed. “Their paths have always been destined to cross. They are both destined for great things, and they will require each other to achieve them.”

Salazar raised a questioning eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see soon enough, if all goes to plan.”

“That daughter of yours is rather creative; I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her wand.”

Merlin smiled proudly. “I am glad I’m dead,” he nodded. “It means she can’t cause any serious damage.”

“It will still hurt,” he commented.

“Definitely,” Merlin agreed and Salazar gave a boisterous laugh.

“I offer you my condolences in advance for any body part you may lose.”

~000~000~000~

**Hogwarts - Monday 15th October 1944**

Hermione quietly walked down the corridors of Hogwarts, heading to her first lesson of the day, potions.

She had been contemplating the new plan all weekend, barely leaving her rooms and staying out of sight. Her rouse was over, had been shattered, but she was proud that she had been able to keep it up for nearly a month, to be honest, she didn’t think she would’ve last that long.

She had spent the weekend mentally preparing herself to willingly join Tom Riddle and his merry band of future killers. She had to stay detached, she had to remember the past –well, future-, but also forget it. She had to be darker; she had to show no fear, no mercy. She had to prove that she was dangerous and that you would be a fool to underestimate her. She had to prove to Riddle that he needed her. No more Gryffindor Princess, no, it was time for her to be more Slytherin. The Slytherin Princess was needed.

Riddle was nowhere near as dangerous in this time, but he was still powerful, but so was she. He was intelligent and good at masking his true feelings, he was a charmer; he had the entire school population in his robe pocket.

She would have to always be one step ahead, she couldn’t falter in her occlumency shields, but if she ever did she had a backup plan, something that had taken a long time for her to learn.

She sighed when she reached her destination in the dungeons. Her rouse may have been up with Riddle, but it wasn’t with the rest of the school and professors and she was pleased with that. She made sure to hunch over on herself slightly and she walked into the room, clutching her books to her chest, her glasses firmly in place and her hair piled messily onto the top of her head with some curls escaping.

She slowly made her way to her seat but stopped when she saw someone in it. Dolohov. He noticed her and smirked, subtly motioning for her to turn around. She did, there was only one seat available and it was next to Tom Riddle, who was looking at her innocently.

She ground her teeth together and gripped her books tighter, but slowly moved over to him, pulling out the stool and sitting down and placing her books on the work table.

“Miss. Nilrem,” he greeted politely.

“Mr. Riddle,” she struggled to contain the growl and he chuckled at her.

“Whatever is the matter, Miss. Nilrem?” He asked innocently.

She took a calming breath. “You see, there’s an overbearing, impossible and quite annoying wizard in my life.” She turned to look at him, much calmer, though if you looked into her eyes, the anger seen there spoke volumes.

“Really?” He asked with a terrifyingly accurate tone of worry, and his face supported it too. Oh, he was good.

“Hmm, you see, he just won’t leave me alone. I’ve considered hexing him, but the pain in the arse just threatened to tell a Professor, although, I doubt he actually would.”

“Maybe said wizard finds you interesting,” he supplied.

“Maybe said wizard should grab a broom, fly over Hogwarts’ grounds and jump into The Black Lake to be eaten by the Giant Squid,” she scowled, clearly over their game.

He laughed at her and she turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, leaning closer to her.

“Well, you can take that proposition and shove it right where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“That’s not very kind, Miss. Nilrem, and you haven’t yet heard my proposition,” he whispered.

“Don’t care.”

“I think you’ll like it,” he practically purred. He reached up with his hand and took a loose curl of hers in his hand, tugging on it gently. “You’re a mystery, I can’t figure you out. You have secrets and I want to know them and I always get what I want. So I thought I’d make this pleasant for you.” He moved closer to her, his mouth almost touching her ear and he whispered. “If you tell me what you’re hiding, you can have me.”

Despite herself, she shivered and she silently berated herself.

“Resorting to pimping yourself out, Mr. Riddle? You must be desperate, but still, I must inform you that I decline your offer.”

He chuckled at her. “I know you want me, everyone does,” he said huskily, with an arrogant look on his face.

She pulled away from him and looked him up and down and he smirked at her appraisal of him.

“Sorry, not interested.” His smirk dropped and he stared at her in disbelief, she was now the one smirking. “You’re too pale, your hair is too tidy, that blazer under your robes looks ridiculous; it makes you look frumpy and you’re not nearly as charming and good looking as you think you are. So, yes, I will be declining your invitation of a night of pure displeasure,” she turned and faced the chalkboard.

_Point, Hermione._

He seemed to break out of his stupor and his magic swirled around her lightly, but she ignored it, not giving him the satisfaction of responding to his threat. He leaned forward and once more took a curl in his hand and tugged on it, still gently, but he was obviously angry. He moved his lips next to her ear.

“Miss. Nilrem, you have severely underestimated me, I could cause you so much pain,” he cooed in her ear.

She snorted. “And you, Mr. Riddle, have severely underestimated me. I know curses that you don’t, that you want to know. If you think I would let myself be hurt by you or your merry little henchman, then you are severely mistaken. And there is one thing you are forgetting.”

“What would that be?”

“I’m a Half-blood.”

“Your point being?”

“I have magical tendencies, such as to hex your face onto your arse. But I also have muggle tendencies, my favourite at the minute is wanting to kick you in a place that will be very painful, render you speechless it will, likely have you on the floor too.”

He quickly pulled away from her with narrowed eyes and he saw that she was telling the truth, the smug look on her face was unmistakable.

He leaned forward again.

“Well, Miss. Nilrem, it seems battle lines have been drawn. But I always get what I want.”

“Not from me,” she huffed.

He chuckled. “I will, I promise you that before you know it, I’ll know all your secrets.”

He quickly kissed her cheek and pulled away. She had a disgusted look on her face and she promptly started wiping at her cheek with her robe sleeve.

_How dare she?_

He saw several of his followers shaking with laughter. They would have to be punished, yes, he would be sure to let off a little steam later that evening.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 7

**Hogwarts – Monday 22nd October 1944**

It had only been a week since Tom Riddle had officially expressed his interest in discovering the mystery that surrounded Hermione, and it had been a _very_ long week at that.

It had taken her all but a couple of hours for her to get used to her being followed around, but this time, she was being followed without her stalkers using magic to disguise themselves and she knew why, too. Since she’d told Riddle that she’d known about his _friends_ following her, he saw no point in denying it and rather he made sure that she _could_ see it.

He wanted her to know she was being watched, hoping that the constant watchful eyes that were on her would tear her down until she couldn’t take it anymore and she begged him to stop and in return, she’d tell him what he wanted to know. And she wasn’t just being followed to her classes, no, they followed her everywhere; to the bathroom, to the library, to professors ‘offices when handing in assignments, they even followed her when she decided to get some fresh air and take a little stroll over the grounds of the castle. It had been difficult to return to her own dorm room, but with her knowing the castle better than anyone, she’d been able to use the secret passageways to lose her stalkers and get to safety.

And she admitted that whilst it was somewhat of an annoyance to have someone following her everywhere she went, knowing they were scrutinizing her movements, listening to anything she said in hopes it would shed some light on the mystery surrounding her, mostly she found it amusing. She was amused to know that Tom Riddle had resorted to ordering his band of merry henchmen to follow her around to learn her secrets, as his first method, using his looks and charms to get what he wanted hadn’t worked. And that’s what amused her the most, she knew she had thrown him a curveball the moment she informed him of her disinterest in sleeping with him. She was certain that no one had ever turned him down, she was the first, and it had been so surprising to him that hadn’t known how to react at first.

She knew what he was doing, not only was he having her followed but he’d spent the last week _accidentally_ bumping into her in the corridors, giving her charming smiles and brushing his side against innocently when they crossed paths in the corridors, hoping his touch would affect her the same way it did the other witches. He just always seemed to be around the corner, when a witch would bump into her, glaring at her for the obvious interest Riddle seemed to have taken in her, her bag would fall to the ground and the contents would spill out. Riddle would suddenly show up, crouching down beside her to help her collect her belongings, being the ever helpful and gentlemanly head boy. This only infuriated the witches more, especially since he’d taken to sitting next to her in their shared classes, wanting her to be close by so he could keep an eye on her. Hermione knew to be on her guard, she knew she’d have another Viktor Krum situation on her hands soon enough and she’d find herself on the receiving end of hexes and hate mail.

At the moment, Riddle was only intrigued by her as he knew she was keeping secrets, but she needed it to be more than that. She needed to be invaluable to him; she needed to be someone he absolutely needed on his side, someone he would protect. She could take care of herself, but her father had been right, having the protection and support of Tom Riddle would be useful, especially given the times they were in when the majority of witches were only interested in finding the perfect wizard to wed and being the perfect house-witch. No one would take her seriously unless she had him on her side.

She needed to be indispensable, a one of a kind, and that’s what she was. She was the heir and daughter to the great and powerful Merlin, there was no one else like her, but she couldn’t very well tell Riddle that, could she? So she had spent the last week putting together a plan, and it was finally time to put it into action. It was time to share one of her ‘secrets’ with Tom Riddle, but she planned on doing it so it looked accidental, like she hadn’t meant for him to see it.

There were only six days until the Halloween Ball and the castle had been abuzz with gossiping and simpering witches, discussing what they planned on wearing and who they hoped would escort them to the ball. In this time period, Hermione knew that if she didn’t show to the ball with an escort rumours would spread, but she didn’t care what others thought of her, as it was, she’d only planned on making an appearance and then sneaking out when everyone was too distracted to notice her disappearance.

Lessons had just ended for the day and as Hermione walked from her classroom, she knew she was being followed, only this time it was by Riddle himself. It was easy for him to fall into step beside her and she ignored his presence, knowing it would annoy him. She may have to infiltrate his little organisation, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have any fun in doing so, besides, the more she disliked him, the more he would go out of his way to make her like him.

“You seem to be in a rush, Miss. Nilrem,” he spoke after several minutes of walking the corridors in silence.

“No, I just want to get away from you as soon as possible,” she replied lightly.

She turned her head, getting caught in his ice-blue gaze, she wasn’t sure if he was amused or angered by her response, it was probably a bit of both.

“I am sure you’re aware of the Halloween Ball that is occurring on Saturday,” he spoke, ignoring her last response.

 _Where is he going with this?_ She thought.

“Of course, I was there for the announcement after all, and my ears are bleeding from all the sickening conversations I’ve heard of witches simpering over wizards and crying over the colour of their gowns not being the right shade.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do not care for such things?” He asked.

“Not really, no,” she answered. “Whilst I can appreciate the beauty of the decorations and I can understand the reasons behind the celebration, I find myself being bored of numerous talks of who’s escorting who and who’s wearing what, when this ball is only going to last a few hours. I have much more valuable things to do with my time.”

“So you will not be attending the ball?”

“No, I will, if only to keep up appearances, I may even enjoy a dance or two, but I imagine I will be bored within an hour and be wishing for nothing but an escape. I’m to assume you will be attending?”

“Naturally,” he replied, “It’s my duty as Head Boy to ensure the smooth running of the ball and to officially start the ball with the first dance with the Head Girl,” he responded, a slight twitch in his lip leading her to believe he didn’t think much of Hillary Denvors, a Half-blood Hufflepuff.

“Sounds awful, you poor dear, what you must do for this school,” she said sarcastically.

He turned his head to look at her, his ice-blue eyes locking on her and his mouth twitched, it was either annoyance or amusement; he wasn’t exactly sure which. He often felt both when in her presence.

“Exactly, I imagine it being a dull evening,”

“Now that I can agree with,” she nodded.

“Out of curiosity, do you have an escort?”

She blinked in surprise at his question, looking to him and seeing that he genuinely seemed to be curious, but she didn’t like the spark he held in his eyes. She was sure it can’t have been good for her.

“Yes,”

“You do?” He spoke, his steps momentarily halting, but it was barely noticeable.

“Unfortunately, I do. You see, thanks to you, others are now starting to take notice of me, and I much preferred it when they didn’t know I existed. I was asked to the ball last weekend, and I felt I couldn’t turn him down, seeing that he looked so hopeful that I would agree.”

His brow creased slightly in annoyance. “And who is to be your escort?”

“That’s none of your business,” she replied.

“Don’t you wish to know who I’ll be escorting?” He asked.

“You know, I really don’t,” she answered, feeling amused at the way his mouth twitched and his nose seemed to flare.

She hadn’t planned on putting her plan into action so soon but now was the perfect time. With her being from the future and after all the research she’d done into Tom Riddle and his past, especially at Hogwarts, she’d stumbled upon certain pieces of information that had been irrelevant before but were now very useful. Now she knew when certain events were going to happen and she was going to use them to her advantage. She was going to use them to convince Tom Riddle that she was a legitimate Seer.

Who better than to have on your side than someone who could see future outcomes? Especially when there were as little as ten legitimate Seers currently left in the world. If she could convince him she was a Seer, then hopefully she’d be able to convince him that she’d seen his future and she could prevent the war from ever happening. As it was, Seers were known for being odd, so it would certainly explain many things about her.

As they were walking down the corridors, she turned left and he followed for no other reason than to actually follow her. She knew that on that particular corridor and in a few minutes time, Peeves was going to make an appearance and he was going to terrorise a group of second year students with enough stink pellets to stink out half the castle.

Voices up ahead filled her ears.

“No,” Hermione whispered, coming to a sudden stop.

Riddle stopped beside her and looked down at her with a raised eyebrow, before she drew her wand, flung a Shielding Charm in the direction of the young students and she grabbed Riddle by the arm and dragged him into the alcove behind them.

It was clear he was surprised with her sudden actions and he didn’t look too pleased with being manhandled either, but he didn’t get chance to voice his annoyance as Hermione flung a Shielding Charm over the two of them, just as a bang was heard and the corridor suddenly filled with green smoke, making it difficult to see anything.

Hermione waited only but a minute before she cast a strong Ventilation Charm to help with the ridding of the smoke and smell, and she dropped the shield, stepping out of the alcove and making her way over to the five young students, all of them looking surprised by what had happened, but confused as to how they’d been protected from the stink pellets.

“Are any of you injured?” Hermione asked, giving her wand a flick and the bubble-like shield fell from around them. The five students covered their noses and gave a cough as the last remnants of the horrendous smell was removed from the corridor.

“We’re fine,” a Hufflepuff answered, giving her a shy smile.

“Alright then, off you go, you shouldn’t linger in the corridors too long, it just gives Peeves an opportunity to target you,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands and they soon disappeared down the corridor, so Hermione turned and made to leave, but Tom Riddle stepped in front of her, looking down at her expectantly, curiously.

“Yes?”

“How did you know that was going to happen?” He asked her.

She smiled innocently; he didn’t believe it for a second and she knew it. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she responded, readjusting her bag on her shoulder and stepping around him to continue walking down the corridor.

“You’re lying, I know you are. You knew that was going to happen, how?”

She looked at him over her shoulder and shrugged. “I just had a feeling,” she responded, walking off and disappearing from view.

A few more instances like that and she knew he’d soon figure it out and she’d be one step closer to the saving the future.

~000~000~000~

**Wednesday 24th October 1944**

Hermione was sat at her desk in her defence against the dark arts classroom, and she was more than aware of Tom Riddle being sat at the desk to the right of her, not listening to Professor Welkins give his recap lecture on pixies, but rather he was watching her, whilst she was staring at the cage of pixies sat on the large desk at the front of the room. She knew that today, those pixies would get loose and cause a great amount of chaos in the classroom, much like they had in her second year with Lockhart.

She didn’t take her eyes off the cage but she caught from the corner of her Riddle move his eyes to the cage and then back to her, looking at her suspiciously, curiously. She knew he was already starting to put the pieces together, especially after she’d prevented a cauldron from exploding in potions class that morning, and the previous day she’d stopped a first year from falling off a moving staircase, and she’d been in the vicinity of Rosier and Malfoy when she’d done so.

She waited, she knew it wasn’t much longer; she could see the cage rattling and shaking as the pixies inside did everything they could to break free. She was watching the latch on the cage door, it was moving closer and closer to opening and barely minutes later, the cage door opened but she’d already thrown a Locking Charm at it, the door closing before a single pixie was able to escape. She’d been so quiet and quick that no one had noticed, no one, except Tom Riddle.

She put her wand away and made sure to do a sweep of the room, putting a nervous look on her face as her eyes swept each student in turn before they landed on Tom Riddle. He raised an eyebrow and his head tilted to the side slightly, his mouth pulling into a half-smirk. She was sure he was putting together the pieces she was leaving him.

~000~000~000~

**Thursday 26th October 1944**

“I believe you’re heading in the wrong direction.”

Hermione stopped in her steps and turned to look over her shoulder, seeing none other than Tom Riddle, but she’d known it was him before he’d even spoke.

“Am I?”

“The library’s on the third floor,” he replied, continuing in his steps until he came to a stop beside her.

“I’m aware of the location of the library,” she spoke, returning to making her way towards her destination, which happened to be the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. As soon as he realised where they were, she noticed the change in his magic, in his body language.

“The bathroom hasn’t been used in over a year,” he spoke.

“I don’t wish to use the bathroom.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” she lied, pushing the door open and stepping inside, noting the way he followed after her, his eyes watching her carefully.

She walked around the sinks in the centre of the room, her eyes darting about as if she were taking in the sight for the first time. She came to a stop and gently ran her fingers over one of the sinks, a slight frown pulling at her face before she lifted her hand and pressed it against the mirror.

Feeling him step up behind her, slowly she lifted her eyes from staring at the columns and immediately her gaze locked with his, seeing that he was stood so close to her, his chest was almost pressed against her back.

“You know, don’t you?” He said quietly. She blinked slowly. “There’s no point in lying to me, I know you know.”

“Something happened here,” she all but whispered. “There’s a strange aura coming from this room, but more importantly, from here.”

She moved away from him until she came to a stop at the sink that had the snakes carved above it and she ran her finger over the stone carving softly, before she blinked, shook her head and stepped back.

“Anyway, I suppose I better get to my dorm, I have a familiar to see to,” she said.

She turned and made for the exit, but before she reached the door his hand wrapped around her wrist and he tugged her backwards, stepping into her until her back hit his chest and he lowered his mouth to speak into her ear.

“I know your secret,” he muttered softly.

“I don’t have any secrets,” she lied unconvincingly, and she’d done so on purpose. Today was the day Tom Riddle discovered he needed her.

“Miss. Nilrem, you’re a terrible liar,” he tutted, his other hand coming up to gently tug at a loose curl. “I am a little annoyed that it has taken me so long to discover it, but given the nature of it, I feel it is within my capabilities to forgive you. After all, a secret such as yours is priceless.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she responded.

He gave a rich, deep chuckle and it sent shivers down her spine, his breath tickling and warming her skin as he spoke.

“Your secret is safe with me, Seer.”

She pulled back from him and spun around to face him, making her eyes as wide and innocent as possible.

“I’m not a Seer,” she denied. “They’re incredibly rare and one hasn’t been seen in Britain in over three decades.”

His head tilted to the side and his mouth pulled into a half-smirk, his eyes alight with victory and knowledge.

“The Prophetic Seers are quite common, but your kind, the kind that can allow you to see future outcomes and memories of the past are almost unheard of. I admit, you were good at hiding it, but I’m a lot more observant than the other students, as you well know. I see things others don’t and now I see you for who you truly are.”

“And that is?” She asked, taking a step back and moving closer to the door.

His mouth pulled into a smirk. “Valuable, very valuable indeed.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you want from me, I can’t help you and I won’t.” She spoke before she turned and left out the bathroom.

“I always get what I want, Miss. Nilrem,” his voice carried down the corridor after her.

“Not from me,” she responded.

“We’ll see,” he replied and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

Hermione rounded the corner and breathed a sigh of relief, a feeling of triumph filling her and her mouth pulling into a smile. She’d done it, she’d shown Tom Riddle how powerful and valuable she was and she knew he’d stop at nothing to get her. Soon, she would infiltrate his organisation and manipulate him into being a better person. She only hoped the rest of her plan would go as well as the previous part had.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 24

**Hogwarts – Friday 27th October 1944**

"Given the circumstances, I am not sure that is wise, Miss. Nilrem."

"Don't be a sour lemon drop, Albus," Dippet chastised, looking to Hermione with an almost pitiful expression, and honestly, she didn't care for it.

"Armando, surely you can see that such an unnecessary and unplanned visit has too much risk. Miss. Nilrem is here for her safety and protection."

"Yes, she is believed to have escaped to the Americas, not Britain. I am certain she will be perfectly safe, from what I have heard, she is perfectly capable of defending herself." At the Headmaster's statement, Hermione blinked in surprise, certainly not expecting his words given that witches were thought to be weaker in this day and age. "But I do see the risk in having her unescorted," he admitted.

 _Oh God, no!_ Hermione thought, knowing exactly what was about to come out of the old coot's mouth before his brain had even offered up the thought.

"As such, I will see to it that she has a suitable escort, perhaps, Tom Riddle," he supplied. "He's proven to be trustworthy and we can ensure he will handle this responsibility impeccably, he is the perfect gentleman and will ensure Miss. Nilrem's safety."

What happened to her being able to defend herself?

"Oh, Headmaster, that offer is incredibly kind, but I would hate to pull Mr. Riddle away from his studies. I'm perfectly able to make the visit on my own."

"Miss. Nilrem, a young witch such as yourself should not be traipsing the streets without an escort, it is a dangerous world we live in," Dumbledore insisted.

 _A young witch such as herself?_ What was that supposed to mean? She barely fought back the scowl of annoyance.

"Honestly, Professor, I don't wish to cause so much hassle for something that is such a small issue."

"Nonsense," Dippet disagreed. "I will not allow a student to miss out on the festivities for something as easily rectified with a quick trip out of Hogwarts. It is not your fault that you came to Hogwarts so suddenly and without preparations for the term festivities, you were unaware of Hogwarts' school traditions. I am certain Mr. Riddle wouldn't mind escorting you."

"I happened to overhear one of his housemates on my way here, he explained to another that Mr. Riddle would later be studying very hard for an arithmancy examination that is due to be taken on Monday. Arithmancy is a very challenging subject and requires much focus, I don't wish for Mr. Riddle to be disturbed, perhaps another escort might be best."

"Mr. Riddle works hard," he nodded in agreement, "Which is precisely why he could use a break from his studies, a bit of fresh air can work wonders for clearing the mind. It's to my knowledge you both have a free study period whilst the majority of your year will be attending their NEWT classes. You may leave the castle in this time but I insist that you return before the start of dinner this evening. If I were you, Miss. Nilrem, I'd bundle up, the weather is turning remarkably cold and I imagine it will be no different during your visit. It's my understanding that you have an apparition licence, correct? I will send word to Mr. Riddle to meet you by the entrance hall. I would suggest apparating into Hogsmeade and taking the floo directly from the Three Broomsticks."

"I hate to be so much trouble," she ducked her head, silently fuming. How the hell was she going to go through with her plans if she had Riddle looking over her shoulder?

"It is no trouble at all, Miss. Nilrem," Dippet assured her, Hermione noting that Dumbledore had been remarkably quiet since the mentioning of Riddle. "You better hurry along, you don't have a lot of time to ready yourself," he gave her a smile,

Hermione barely stopped herself from glaring at him in response. She knew what he meant. That she was a witch and witches took their time making sure their hair was perfect and their Makeup Charms were in place, should she happen to bump into a potential suitor. As if she would be so vain!

"Headmaster, Professor," she tipped her head before turning and leaving the office, quietly fuming as she made her way down the stairs and down the corridor, heading towards her dorm.

"Miss. Nilrem?"

Hermione paused and peered over her shoulder, clenching her hands into fists and taking a calming breath, forcing her magic back into herself. She couldn't allow anyone to know how powerful she truly was unless she wanted to make herself known, a target, of course, Tom Riddle was the exception.

"Professor," Hermione questioned politely, waiting for Dumbledore to fall into step beside her before she continued on her journey.

"Are you quite alright? I couldn't help but notice you were rather adamant that Mr. Riddle not be the one to escort you."

"I am fine, Professor," she assured him. "I don't have a problem with Mr. Riddle per se, rather of the fact that I require an escort at all."

"We live in dangerous times, Miss. Nilrem, Grindelwald may very well be searching for you. It would be foolish to assume he does not have spies."

"I know, Professor, that is why I have every intention of wearing a Glamour Charm to conceal my true identity," she lied. Really, there was no need for such a thing, Grindelwald had no clue who she was, but if word ever did get to him about her lie and he did discover her power and heritage, well, she was screwed. Riddle and Dumbledore she could handle. Riddle, Dumbledore _and_ Grindelwald, no thank you.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. How hadn't she noticed how annoying it was?

"It seems your Ravenclaw sorting was quite accurate. As for Mr. Riddle... "

"I don't trust him," she interrupted is long-winded speech before it could begin, not in the mood for it. "I don't believe that he would attempt anything untoward, particularly with both yourself and Headmaster Dippet knowing he is to be my escort. But if he should, I am more than capable of defending myself."

His eyes narrowed a fraction, searching her questioningly as he was reminded of her moment of weakness when she'd allowed her power to show during her duel with Riddle.

"I'm sure you can, Miss. Nilrem," he replied.

"If you would please excuse me, Professor, I don't have much time to change for my visit."

"Of course, remember to return to the castle before dinner."

Hermione nodded before stepping away from him and heading towards the staircase, feeling his eyes on her retreating back. If he was going to keep scrutinizing her, things would get a lot more difficult, but she did love a challenge.

~000~000~000~

"Miss. Nilrem," Tom Riddle greeted, offering her a charming smile as he approached.

Hermione twisted to look over her shoulder, scowling at him. "You're late, Mr. Riddle. I never took you as being one for tardiness."

His smile faltered a little before settling back on his face, his eyes narrowing slightly and his aura darkening as he grew closer. She wasn't afraid of him, not even when he stopped before her, his towering height forcing her to lift her head to keep eye contact.

"Usually I am not, however, my arrival was disrupted by a second year in need, as Head Boy, it was my duty to see to her."

"How chivalrous, it that not a Gryffindor trait?" She rolled her eyes, her mouth twitching at his clear annoyance. "You don't have to escort me anyway, Mr. Riddle, I'm perfectly sure you have better things to be doing, minions that can't function without you and whatnot."

Despite his annoyance, his lip twitched.

Well, she wasn't wrong, he silently admitted. They were idiots, even Malfoy despite the blonde having his favour.

"And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Of course," he smiled placating and she narrowed her eyes.

"Don't patronize me; you are the only one who is aware that statement is quite true, or should I remind you of our duel?"

"A duel you did not win," he pointed out smugly.

"Neither did you," she fired back, "But I most certainly would have had Dumbledore not interrupted."

"You truly believe that, don't you?" He said, his amusement not hidden in his ice-blue gaze.

"I _know_ it," she lifted her head and folded her arms. "Anyway, I best be going, I have much to do and such little time to do it in."

She stepped around him and made her way out of the entrance doors, through the courtyard and across the grounds until she reached the large gates that led to Hogsmeade Village, Riddle having quickly fallen into step before she'd even left.

Turning to look at him, she said, "I assure you, you don't wish to escort me on this trip. It will be incredibly boring."

"I assure you, Miss. Nilrem, I _really_ do," he smirked, knowing that his mere presence was an annoyance to her.

"Don't you have better things to be doing? I gave you an out with Dippet, you could've taken it."

"Not particularly, as for your generous handiwork, I'd much rather it be me than Danvers or another prefect. You must be protected."

"And only you can do that?" She arched a brow at him.

"Of course," he smiled. "You, after all, Miss. Nilrem, are priceless, and we shan't let anything happen to you now, shall we?"

His hand came up, his knuckles softly skimming down the side of her cheek and she scowled at him and stepped back, scowling both at him and the shiver that passed through her. His hand was a lot warmer than she'd expected and the touch, it was quite intimate, something she hadn't felt in a long time. She hated him for it but at the same time, she wanted to turn into it.

"I'm not yours," she hissed.

His eyes flashed, something dark and possessive.

"Not yet," he smirked.

"Not ever!" She growled, her hands clenching into fists and her foot-stomping angrily.

He chuckled at the display and tapped a finger against her nose as if she were a tiny, cute kitten.

"Your anger is adorable," he shook his head, smiling down at her.

She barely stopped herself from reaching for her wand and hexing the smug bastard! But she couldn't stop the way her magic broke free, swarming them both, the thick tension of it like a blanket protecting them from the cold, heavy and heady.

Riddle took a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering closed as his lashes brushed his cheekbones and he released a soft sigh, his eyes opening and appearing slightly darker than before.

"I will never be yours," she sneered.

He tipped his head and smiled. "You will be, I always get what I want, Miss. Nilrem."

"And what? That's me?" She scoffed. "There are plenty of witches in the castle, in Britain, in the _world_ , find someone else."

She stormed off, seething as he followed after her.

"Unfortunately, they are not you, now are they? They do not have such an incredible, helpful gift. They cannot help me, they cannot give me what I need."

"And I can?" She halted, turning to face him.

His eyes slowly took in every inch of her, from her wild curls pulled into a mess atop her head, the thick glasses perched on her button nose, the large, fire-crackling eyes that hid behind them and the plump, pink lips pulled into an unhappy scowl.

"What do you want from me?"

"Now, _that_ is the question," he murmured, his eyes continuing his perusal of her, moving down the column of her neck, over her cloaked form and ending at her black school shoes before returning to her face.

"I will have you, Nilrem."

"Over _your_ dead body," she hissed, her eyes flashing angrily, her magic thickened until it was suffocating and he watched entranced as little golden sparks frizzled around her hair.

Never before had he seen such a physical magical response to a witch's or wizard's fury. He knew that if they were powerful enough, an aura could be sensed, even seen, as he'd done during the duel and seeing the colours that surrounded her. He knew that his own aura appeared dark when his anger showed. But to see a _physical_ response, it was mesmerising, intriguing. The first time he'd witnessed it, he'd thought it was a fluke, maybe even a conjuring of his imagination, but now, now he knew she was far more powerful than he'd ever previously thought.

Powerful. Valuable. Knowledgeable.

He had to have her, even if he were forced to kill everyone that got in his way. She _would_ be his.

 _Strange_ , he thought, how a witch he'd met no fewer than seven weeks ago had made such an impression, had wormed her way into his thoughts, and all without trying. If anything, she went out of her way to avoid him and when that didn't work, she did everything she could to annoy him. He should want to kill her, but he didn't. She was too valuable to him, and he supposed, it wasn't a negative that she was pretty. She hid behind her glasses, hair and clothing, but she was naturally pretty. There was no lingering residual magic of Makeup Charms surrounding her, something he'd grown accustomed to over the years given the witches in his house.

But when she was angry, eyes dark and crackling with fire, hair wild and spitting golden sparks, cheeks tinged pink and pearly white teeth clenched tightly, her knuckles turning white from her firmly fisted hands, she was beautiful. Magnificent.

 _Perhaps she would be useful in more ways than one_ , he thought, his mouth twitching into a smirk. Having a witch on his arm would definitely prevent the female populace from assuming he was up for grabs, having a few fewer witches boring and annoying him with their flirtation was always a bonus. And from what he'd seen, Dumbledore was interested in her, protective possibly, and he did love to annoy the meddling old fool.

"Trust me, _Hermione_ ," he purred her given name, delighting in the way her eyes narrowed, her cheeks darkened and the aura of her magic slammed into his chest, forcing him to take a breath lest he suffocates. Merlin, this witch was intoxicating! "Someday, my body will be _over_ you," he finished with skimming his knuckles against her cheek once more.

She gasped in outrage, her hand coming up to bat his hand away from her and he laughed, the rich and dark sound he'd practised now being genuine.

Her mouth opened, a snappy retort, he was sure, on the tip of her tongue but he interrupted.

"Did you not say you had much to do but little time to do it? I am more than happy to stand and converse with you for as long as you wish, but we are due to return in a matter of hours."

She glared at him, looking as though she were contemplating kicking him in the shin or hexing him. He knew she'd messed with his thoughts when he found himself wondering what hex she would use, what effects it might have and how dark it would be. She'd already proven that she did not care for light versus dark, good versus evil. Maybe it was one he'd never before seen, maybe he could learn it, too.

"I swear, Riddle, I am going to make this trip as unpleasant as I can for you," she threatened.

He chuckled. "But I have you to keep me company, nothing shall be unpleasant," he smiled.

She opened her mouth, pointed a threatening finger in his face, glared at him and then released a noise of frustration, throwing her hands up in the air.

"You are impossible," she hissed.

"On the contrary, I believe I am rather reasonable," he replied.

She growled before turning and storming off further down the pathway and away from the protective wards of Hogwarts.

Tom didn't bother holding back his laughter. Genuine, not faked or practised.

~000~000~000~

Hermione had thought she'd have to do a remarkable acting job as she made her way through the busy crowds of Diagon Alley, having never have supposed to have visited before, it would be suspicious if she knew where she was heading, but in all honestly, Diagon Alley was both the same and different.

Whilst she recognised most of the shops, the displays were not the same and some of them were even in the wrong part of the Alley, meaning sometime in the future, they'd moved premises. Looking like a lost little rabbit hadn't been all that hard to fake.

Tom chuckled at her from his place walking beside her.

"I swear, if one more person barges into me, I'm hexing them," Hermione huffed in annoyance, glaring over her shoulder at the retreating back of a heavily made-up witch, something Hermione thought did her no favours.

"As amusing as that would be, I am tasked with keeping you out of trouble."

"Clearly you don't know me, Riddle," she replied, having abandoned the 'Mr,' some time ago, and a sad but fond smile pulled at her mouth, memories of her past adventures flittering through her mind. "I have been known to break a few rules in my youth."

"Youth?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Youth, mine was taken from me, I was forced to grow for quicker than any child should be. I'd learned my first offensive and defensive spell and used them in practice by the time I was twelve. From there, it grew worse. And if you want to get technical, I am eighteen, an adult in _both_ worlds."

"Your birthday has already passed?" He questioned in surprise.

"Yes," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "Now, seeing as I've never been here before," she lied, "Where's the nearest bank? I can't do anything I need to without the funds to do so."

Eyeing her curiously, he nodded once before his arm encircled her upper arm, just above her elbow and he pulled her through the crowd.

"You should know, I don't care for being manhandled," she scowled at the back of his head.

"It's not my fault you're tiny and easily lost in a busy crowd," he replied without looking back at her.

"Excuse me, I am average height!"

"Yes, but I'm sure most of that is your hair."

She gasped in outrage. "How dare you!"

"Oh, look at that, we're at the bank."

She snapped her mouth shut and her head lifted, her eyes locking on the large golden building of Gringotts Bank. It was just as imposing as she remembered it and the last time she'd been there, she'd stolen from a vault, caused thousands in damage and stolen their blind dragon. She wondered if it was still there. What was the life span of dragons, again? She couldn't remember.

Shaking her head, she peered down at the steps to prevent her from tripping.

"Don't be alarmed, Gringotts is run by goblins," Riddle informed her.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank you for that useless tidbit of information. I am aware; there are hundreds of Gringotts branches around the world," she responded sarcastically.

"You know, you never said. Were you raised in the Muggle World or the Wizarding World?"

She blinked, not expecting such a question and she bit her lip thoughtfully. How should she answer this one?

"Both," technically it wasn't a lie. She'd been with her muggle parents until the age of eleven, and then the Weasleys had all but adopted her from that point forward.

"How so?"

"My father never told my mother about the existence of magic until my magic started acting out."

"How old were you?" He asked curiously.

"Three, maybe four, I can't remember. I just remember her being there one day and then she disappeared for a while, finding it difficult to process the news. She came back as my father promised and when I turned eleven, we moved into the Wizarding World, but my father made it a point that I was able to survive in both worlds should I be required to. Before we officially moved, he used to take me for visits to nearby magical towns, he wanted me to know my heritage, see it from a young age so it wasn't too overwhelming."

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully.

He finally released her arm when they stepped through the doors of the building and Hermione took the lead heading to the large and very tall front desk.

"Do you have an account?"

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes. "I would not be here if I didn't. All of my funds were transferred to this branch once I'd learned I was transferring to Hogwarts."

Stopping before the goblin sat directly in the centre of the long desk, she cleared her throat until he lifted his gaze from the document before him.

"I'd like to visit my vault, please," Hermione said politely.

"Name?"

"Hermione Nilrem," she answered.

The goblin narrowed his black eyes and pushed his glasses further up his nose with his free hand.

"That is not a name that is recognised by this branch. Do you have a vault key?"

"No," she answered. "But I wish to visit my vault."

During their exchange, all of the goblins sat along the desk had stopped what they were doing and had turned their eyes to them, Hermione also feeling Riddle's gaze on the back of her head as he stood behind her.

"I believe it is vault..." She paused before she reached beneath her cloak and removed a piece of parchment from her robe pocket, unfolding it and then reaching up to hand it to him.

With the presence of Riddle, she hadn't wanted to say it aloud and had prepared a written validation.

Eyeing her suspiciously, the goblin lifted the parchment to his nose and carefully read over the words.

_Hermione Nilrem (Merlin)_

_Vault zero-five-phoenix-Camelot._

His entire body stiffened, all forty-eight inches of it, before his eyes snapped to her, back to the parchment and then to her once more, his eyes wide, mouth parted and the tips of his pointed ears wiggling comically.

"Oh My _Gold_ ," he croaked.

Hermione smiled politely. "Indeed, and I should like to see mine, if you please."

"Nagnook?" The goblin to the right questioned.

Silently, he handed the parchment over, the second goblin's eyes scanning it before he looked to her in surprise.

"That is not possible," he choked, his black eyes trained on her.

"And yet, here I stand. I don't have much time and I have a few errands to run before I take my leave, would you be so kind as to escort me to my vault. And perhaps my acquaintance might be supplied with a cup of tea, I am unsure of how long this might take."

"Yes, of course, Madame M... Nilrem," Nagnook, the first goblin said.

He all but jumped from his chair and snatched the parchment from the goblin beside him, to be disposed of as soon as possible to keep her identity hidden. She'd written it rather than spoken it for a reason, likely not wanting the wizard behind her to know, the goblin surmised, which is also why she went by a different name. _Wizards_ , he thought. She stood in plain sight. Merlin's heir. There'd been many over the years claiming to be the great Sorcerer's progeny but none of them had known the vault's true name, he _knew_ she was the one, with or without the blood wards acceptance test.

"Ragnorak, please show Madame Nilrem's guest to one of the offices and supply tea. Madame Nilrem, follow me, please," he said, leading the way towards the door behind the desk, being aware of the whispers that broke out amongst his fellow goblins as their eyes watched their departure.

Glancing over her shoulder, she wasn't surprised to see Riddle's scowl of annoyance trained on her retreating form. Another mystery for him to solve.

~000~000~000~

Hermione was certain the ride to the vault had taken almost an hour and she was highly nauseous by the time it came to an end. After taking a moment to collect herself, the goblin patiently waiting and asking after her health (something she hadn't expected), she climbed from the cart and onto the platform, her eyes taking in the single door. She'd seen the platforms, most had a good several dozen doors, why did this one only have one?

"Merlin is one of the first five members of wizarding society to invest with Gringotts, that not only makes him our most loyalist of clients but one of our oldest," the goblin explained, apparently having seen the quizzical expression on her face.

Hermione nodded and followed him towards the large vault door, being surprised when it wasn't simply golden, rather, it held a giant red and orange phoenix slap bang in the centre and locked in the talons was a silver dagger.

Hermione blinked in surprise when the goblin pressed his hand against the door only for the dagger to disappear from the phoenix's talons and reappear, hovering before her. Without question she reached for it, the silver surprisingly warm in her grasp and the rubies imbued in the metal glinting in the firelight of the torches that lined the walls. She remembered her father's instructions and placed a cut to her left palm before pressing it to the door.

Moments ticked by before a blinding golden hue shone from beneath the door, so bright Hermione shut her eyes and turned her head. When the sound of singing softly entered her ears, Hermione's eyes opened and a gasp fell from her lips at the sight of the phoenix on the door, only it wasn't a mural and painting, it was alive.

It watched her with its black eyes and flapped its wings and she stumbled back, her hand falling from the vault door when it took flight, right off the door until it materialised before her, a living, breathing phoenix.

Hesitantly, she reached up and the phoenix tilted its head, a tear dripping on to her open wound, once, twice, three times, until smoke appeared and when it cleared, the cut was gone, healed.

"Thank you," Hermione said. "You know, you remind me very much of my phoenix, Athena," she said softly.

The phoenix opened its mouth, a beautiful song being released before she heard a 'click' and then the phoenix was gone, once more a non-moving mural on the vault door.

Blinking slowly, Hermione turned her eyes to the goblin before her, his black eyes watching her adoringly, Hermione half expected him to drop to his knees and kiss her shoes.

"Why have you been so kind to me?"

"Kind, Madame Merlin?" He spoke freely as they were without witnesses.

"Yes, kind. I was warned that I might be met with hostility before I was confirmed to be who I am, and even upstairs, you were polite by goblin standards."

His mouth twitched in amusement at her words, knowing that was quite true.

"Merlin was the first wizard to show kindness to our species. It is him that gave us the courage to fight for our rights, he showed us a better life, he paved the way to our freedom. We owe him everything. Everything that we are, everything we do and everything we have achieved, it is his doing."

"Sounds familiar," Hermione muttered.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione cleared her throat, shuffling on her feet nervously. "You see, when I was younger, I started a campaign to free all house-elves from slavery," she admitted.

The goblin observed her before a gravelly chuckle sounded. "You truly are his heir," he nodded. "The vault is open, take as much time as you need. You may remove anything you wish regardless of amount or size. Everything inside the vault is yours and yours alone, Madame. Of course, I will have to file a report so we may keep up to date records, but such files are stored inside the vault, unlike other's which are kept upstairs. Your confidentiality and privacy are paramount and Merlin's vault has the best security of the entirety of Gringotts, he'd performed the magic himself during one of his returns."

"Thank you," Hermione said, already feeling overwhelmed and she hadn't even set foot inside the vault yet.

The goblin nodded before stepping aside and taking up a guard position by the vault door and Hermione reached out, her hand pressing against the door and it magically swung open. She was bathed in gold, silver, rainbows, the room magically lighting with balls of fire and light, the enormous piles of gold and silver and jewels reflecting off the light. Trunks of all sizes and shapes stood before her, as did the suits of armour, the jewellery the stacks of books and tomes and scrolls and the furniture looking to have been made during the Arthurian reign.

It was all too much, all so overwhelming; she stumbled back and caught herself on the wall. Everything before her, it was priceless, it was _history_ , she was sure she stood in a historian's heaven. It must've been worth millions. And it was all hers.

Merlin!

"Yes, My Child."

She blinked, slowly lifting her eyes from the ground and seeing that before her stood her smiling father. Had she said that out loud?

"Yes, you did," he smiled.

And that?

"That too," he chuckled.

Shaking her head, she took a breath. "I hadn't meant to."

"I know," he nodded. "But I sensed your need and so I came."

"This..." She trailed off, waving her hand around madly. "Where? How? What? When? Who? Huh?" She struggled to articulate and he chuckled before silently summoning a chair from the other side of the vault. The damn thing looked older than magic itself but that didn't stop Hermione from sitting on it.

"I believe I mentioned that Arthur paid me handsomely for my services."

"Yes, but..." She waved both hands madly and he laughed, shaking his head.

"I will explain how I achieved such wealth another time when you are capable of processing the information," he teased. "But I thought I might pop on by for a quick visitation, I have missed you, My Child."

Hermione shook her head before standing from the chair; once she was sure she had her footing and was no longer in danger of fainting, she closed the small distance between them and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He smelled like magic. Pure magic.

"I missed you, too, Father," she replied, not seeing his smile as she buried her face in his chest and his arms came up to cradle her against him.

"How is your mission fairing?"

"Like you don't already know, peeper," she snorted.

"Tell me anyway," he encouraged. "I can see, but I cannot feel your emotions or read your mind."

Hermione released a sigh and snuggled into him further. He was comforting, hugging him, she felt like a small child again, like he was sucking the fear and worries and stress right out of her.

"It is going as well as it can be given the abrupt change in plans. His interest in me has grown and I swear, he grows more infuriating by the day. He follows me, he has his minions follow me, he annoys me, he's insistent that I be his, in what context, I don't quite know yet."

"He is powerful and intelligent, incredibly so, but he is still a teenage boy and you, my little phoenix, are an incredibly powerful and intelligent witch, beautiful and mysterious."

"I'm not," she denied.

"You are," he argued.

"You're just saying that, you're my father."

He chuckled. "Maybe so, but I confess, I have been applauded for having such a daughter with both beauty and intelligence."

"You have not," she scoffed, pulling back from him.

"I have, Rowena is thrilled that you have been sorted into her house, Salazar annoyed you were stolen from him, Godric upset that you weren't re-sorted to your previous house, and Helga is worried that you are not surrounded by the kindness of her little ones. Morgana has been the most vocal, often praising your wild hair and fiery spirit, you very much remind her of herself when she was your age."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "She was your enemy!" She exclaimed.

"Precisely," he laughed. "She was my enemy and she is singing you praises, she would not do so if she did not believe it true. Morgana has never been one to tell lies."

"Goodness, Morgana thinks I'm pretty and Riddle won't leave me alone, it's official, I've gone mad," she whispered.

"No, you have not, I assure you."

Hermione gave her head a shake. "And Riddle?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I have been watching him, of course,"

"Of course," she tipped her head.

"As have the others, of which, I might add, find your interactions with the young Slytherin heir, mighty entertaining. It has been a long while since I last saw Salazar almost wet himself in laughter."

"He is pleased I am making things so difficult for his heir?" She questioned in surprise.

"My Child, he _adores_ you."

Okay, _now_ she'd gone mad.

"Observing from above unnoticed, I admit, we may have a bit of a wager in place," he admitted sheepishly.

She'd never seen such an expression on his face.

"Meaning?" She arched her brow.

"Well, half of the Elders believe Riddle is only interested in your power, your knowledge."

"Which he is," Hermione nodded. "The other half?"

"Well, the other half believe he is interested in _much more_."

"Oh hell no," she scrunched her face up and he chuckled at her.

"He is quite the handsome wizard," he needled.

"He's also a murdering psychopath," she scoffed.

"He has yet to do any of this future acts," he pointed out.

"Yes, but he's already killed _four_ people and made two Horcruxes."

He tipped his head, conceding her point. "He may not seek redemption or want it, but he can change, alter his behaviour. If that requires a relationship to be formed with him, romantic or otherwise, could you do it?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I mean, he's _Riddle_. The future Dark Lord to destroy the world as we know it."

"But now he is a teenage boy, a young man to have never known love or kindness. No one is born evil, little phoenix. Perhaps it is your influence that alters his current way of thinking."

"Perhaps it's not," she countered. "But being in a relationship... Sleeping with... _Riddle_ ," she shivered. "It was _never_ the plan."

"But what if it's what is needed. Could you do it?" He pressed.

"I honestly don't know. I've prepared myself for being a member of his inner circle, his right hand, possibly even a confidante, but a lover, girlfriend, companion, that's something else entirely," she frowned. "How do I distinguish between who he is now and who I know him to become. How do you feel about such a relationship?"

He smiled. "I have no say in the matter, little phoenix, this can only be your decision. I am not saying it will come to fruition, but if it does, you must decide. I only want you to be safe, to be happy. If you decide to return to the future once your mission is complete, you will be returning not to a world you once knew but something else entirely. There is no guarantee you will have formed the same friendships or had the same experiences. Hermione Granger may very well have never gone to Hogwarts but Beauxbatons instead. Harry and Ron, the Weasleys, may never know you, may never be born or maybe be born to a different time, we do not know the outcome until it arrives."

Hermione nibbled her lip, already knowing all of this and she'd been purposely putting the thought of having to make a decision on returning or staying to the back of her mind.

"I only want you happy and safe, Salazar on the other hand," he paused and she looked up at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. "He is much for the idea of you one day marrying the Slytherin heir and producing Slytherin-Merlin babies." Hermione choked on her breath. "I know, he is a bit forward, he's spent over a millennia with Godric and has picked up a few of his traits, it would seem," he chuckled. "Salazar has always been like a brother to me, even during our living years, he's wished to merge our families for a long time and now it may be possible."

"Not likely," she scowled.

"As I said, it is your decision, your mission. Do as you see fit. It is perfectly alright if you find yourself developing feelings for him. Yes, he is challenging and technically a murderer, but keep in mind, Myrtle Warren's death was an accident and he only harmed his muggle family after he'd discovered they'd known he'd been in the orphanage and they wanted nothing to do with him due to his mother's actions. They punished an innocent child. You, yourself, have a temper and I know you lose control, I have seen it. Perhaps Riddle did the same, perhaps he had no intention of killing them that night, only to meet them. It does not matter. He is still a young wizard, he is handsome, he is charming, he is intelligent and he is powerful. Were it not for his past deeds, I see no reason why you would be hesitant in entering a relationship with him."

"Maybe," she muttered.

"I best return, the others get mighty pouty when I'm gone too long, and I believe it is my turn to host dinner."

"What exactly do you do up there?" She questioned in intrigue.

"You'd be surprised," he smiled. "Now, should you need me, you know I will be here."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before disappearing from view and Hermione released a sigh before sitting on the chair once more, half expecting it to break under her weight.

~000~000~000~

"You've been gone over an hour," was the greeting that met her, a furiously scowling Tom Riddle approaching her after being collected from the office he'd been dumped in whilst she'd been gone.

"Have I?" She questioned in surprise. She'd surely thought it'd been longer, perhaps her hatred of the cart ride had made it seem far longer than it actually was and her father had likely frozen time as he often did when visiting her, not wanting her to be late to classes should he show up before a lesson.

"Yes," he replied unhappily.

"Sorry, I hadn't realised, I was as quick as I could be. Well, I suppose we better continue with my list of errands before time runs out."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed out of the building.

"Are you going to tell me what happened? The goblins were positively gleeful after your departure."

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but I've recently discovered that my father had a great influence on the goblins and they very much respect him. As for any of your other questions, I'm not answering them."

"You're impossible," he told her.

"On the contrary, I believe I'm rather reasonable," she replied innocently. His eyes flashed, recognising she was using his own words against him. "Now, where's the nearest clothing establishment, I require something for the ball tomorrow."

He blinked slowly, falling into step beside her. "The ball?"

"Yes, why did you think I was allowed to leave the castle on such short notice? All the students were aware of the ball before the start of term and therefore brought their festive garb with them, I had no idea. Dippet was adamant that I not be excluded or allowed to miss out simply because I didn't have anything ball appropriate to wear, hence, our little outing."

"You told me you don't care for such things."

"And I don't, believe me, I'd much rather spend the money on books or maybe even pie," she sighed, "You know, if you don't annoy me for the rest of the trip, I might buy you one for the walk back to the floo connection."

"Bribing me with food?" He arched a brow.

"Yes," she answered shamelessly. "It often works for me, but it has to be the _right_ food."

Tom hummed, storing the innocently divulged piece of information for later use.

"Anyway, my original point, I don't care for such things but I do care that I look half-decent. I can't be bothered with the gossip should I arrive in my school robes, hence, a dress is needed, and, I've been invited to Slughorn's party on Tuesday night, I can't very well waltz up in my robes or the dress I might wear to the ball, he told me there was a very specific dress code. So, I'm in search of two outfits, not one."

She wasn't all that surprised when he took her to Twilfit and Tattings and not Madam Malkins. She'd never actually been inside the shop but she'd gotten a glimpse through the window when walking past before, and the decor did not surprise her. This was where the wealthy witches came, which explained the chandeliers, the plush furniture, the regal purple and silver, and of course, the price tags.

A witch was upon them instantly and as Hermione quickly explained the situation, the older witch's kind blue eyes widened comically before she flicked her wand at her hair, the grey strands gathering in a knot at the back of her head, looking as though she was preparing to go to war.

With a swish of her wand, Hermione found her cloak and robes missing, leaving her in the blue floral dress. The witch was dashing about, selecting items from racks and positioning them behind a velvet curtain, moving quicker than Hermione had expected of the frail-looking woman.

Her eyes darted to Tom, asking, "Is she serious?" Only he didn't answer, his eyes were roaming her body, taking in her figure in a way he'd never been able to before. This was the first time she was without her uniform or robes, and the dress she wore might have been a little tighter than appropriate but it was comfortable for her.

"Riddle!" She hissed.

His eyes snapped to her, gleaming as his mouth tugged into a smirk.

"Yes?" He questioned.

"Have some respect," she scowled, folding her arms over her chest.

His smirk widened and her eyes narrowed before she stormed off in a huff, determined to browse the shop and select at least one option herself, the witch looked to have already selected half of the shop's stock.

An hour and a half later found Hermione behind the velvet curtain, trying on gown number...She couldn't remember, she'd lost count. This is why she _hated_ shopping. She was bored, hungry, her arms ached and her body hurt from being squeezed into too-tight corsets and gowns.

"Oh, you look lovely," the witch cooed, standing behind Hermione. Hermione searched her reflection in the mirror, a grimace pulling at her mouth. "No?"

"No, it's too... Pink," she winced.

The witch laughed softly before nodding, helping Hermione out of the gown and selecting another from the pile.

"This one?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "It's too, poofy."

She's tried on nearly every dress but three and the witch had disappeared to browse the gowns she had out the back, gowns that weren't technically for sale yet. She returned not long later.

"Dearie," the witch said from behind the curtain, "Why don't we ask your boyfriend for his opinion? Perhaps he might have an idea of what he wishes to see you in?"

Hermione popped her head through the velvet curtain, keeping it secure so to not flash anyone as she partially dressed. She looked over to Riddle, scowling at him when he didn't correct the witch. In fact, he was casually sat in a plush armchair, leaning back with his right ankle perched on his left knee, his arms resting on the armrests, looking comfortable, the perfect picture of ease.

"He's not my boyfriend," Hermione insisted.

"Yet," Riddle interrupted with a smirk and Hermione glowered at him something fierce.

"Ever," she corrected. "He was tasked with escorting me through Diagon Alley, if I'm honest, he's a massive pain in my backside and has been since the day I met him."

"You flatter me," he smiled charmingly.

Hermione scowled before disappearing back through the curtain, trying dress number... She gave up trying to remember. Kill her now! She'd thought Riddle might be the one to kill her, not damn shopping.

"Don't be too disheartened," Hermione heard the witch say. "I'm sure things will work out as they're supposed to. I confess, the two of you remind me very much of myself and my husband. I couldn't stand the man when we first met and now, we've been married sixty-three years."

Hermione scowled at his reply. "I only hope she gives me the chance you gave your husband."

She wanted to smack him in the face.

"I'm sure she will."

"I can hear you!" Hermione called through the curtain.

"Sorry, Dearie, I'll have another look in the back, I won't be long," the witch spoke, her retreating footsteps unheard due to the carpeted floorings.

Trying on the final dress, Hermione scowled and had lost all hope. Perhaps she'd just have to choose the least loathed one. Sighing, she popped her head through the curtain once more, her mouth tugging into a smirk when she saw Riddle's head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling, his fingers agitatedly tapping against the armrests.

"Bored yet?" She questioned innocently.

He lifted his head and smiled at her. "On the contrary, I'm rather enjoying myself. It has been a while since I have felt so relaxed. If I'm honest, sitting here, it has been the best two and a half hours of my week."

Hermione scowled. "Oh? Not your month? Year? Decade? Heaven forbid, your life?"

"Have I ever told you how amusing you are?" He tilted his head.

"Have I ever told you have annoying you are?" She fired back.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "Why don't you show me the gown you're currently wearing, perhaps I might give my opinion."

"Perhaps I don't care for it," she replied, retreating behind the curtain and glaring at her reflection when she heard his laughter. Today Riddle was on top form, she'd give him that.

The witch returned with several gowns and Hermione tried them all one except two, the last two.

Trying on the second to last gown, her eyes widened in surprise and the woman behind her smiled.

"Yes?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded quickly before she changed her mind and the witch laughed.

"Excellent, let's hope you feel the same about the final gown. I overlooked them the first time, they were well hidden, here's hoping..."

The second and final gown, Hermione's eyes widened further.

"Yes?"

Hermione nibbled at her lip. "I'm not sure about the colour," Hermione admitted.

"Nonsense, it suits you perfectly, compliments your skin tone beautifully."

"Alright," Hermione agreed, not because she agreed with her words, rather, she wanted to leave. If she had time, she'd make a quick stop to Flourish and Blotts, she needed more reading material.

Hogwarts' library, admittedly, was only good for so much.

Redressing, the woman sent the rejected dressed back to their places, the pile actually being bigger than Hermione, and she took the two chosen dresses to the counter, hidden by the garment bags so only she and the witch -what was her name again?- knew their design.

"Finished?" Riddle asked as she stepped out from behind the curtain.

"You sound eager," she noted, pleased.

"I only wish to ensure you are happy with your choices," he replied.

She scowled at him, grabbed her robes and cloak from the second armchair and slipped them on before heading for the counter. After the alterations had been made and thankfully they didn't require a lot, Hermione paid for the dresses, the cost more than anything she'd ever bought. In fact, they'd cost more than three years worth of Christmas presents, including _all_ of the Weasleys.

"How much longer do we have before we need to return?" Hermione asked, after having accepted the shrunken down packages and approaching Riddle.

Silently, she noted, he cast a Time Charm.

"A little under an hour."

"Perfect," she grinned, turning and leaving the shop, Riddle following after her with an arched eyebrow, seeing she was moving quicker than she had during the entire trip and she was suddenly excited.

She'd seen Flourish and Blotts on the way to Gringotts and so she led the way, stepping inside the warmth and breathing in the smell of ink, leather and parchment. This was familiar.

"So, this is what gets you excited?" Riddle questioned.

"Shut up," she grumbled, heading to the counter where a young man perched on a stool, a dusty tome held up against his face. "Excuse me," she said.

The man lowered the book, his dark eyes slowly trailing the features of her face before his mouth tugged into a smile and he reached up, brushing a few golden strands from his face.

"Can I help you?" He leaned forward, arms pressed against the counter, his eyes level with hers.

"Yes, actually, I'm interested in your Azkaban collection."

"I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest what you mean," he replied, smiling charmingly. "Perhaps there is something else that might be of interest to you?" He said, his eyes dipping lower.

"Afraid not, I'm specifically in need of something for the Azkaban collection."

"Honestly, Miss..."

"Nilrem," she supplied.

"Miss. Nilrem, we have no such collection."

"Liar," Hermione said, digging her hand into her robe pocket and removing a pouch of galleons, dropping it onto the counter with a heavy thud. "And now? Still have no such collection?"

The young man's eyes darted down to the pouch, up to her and then to Riddle who stood behind her. The moment he did so, a fear-stricken look crossed his face.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, scrambling from his stool and disappearing into a back room.

Arching an eyebrow, Hermione twisted to look behind her, seeing Riddle's dark, impressively frightening glare trained on the door that slammed shut.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," he replied, turning his eyes to her and smiling charmingly.

She snorted. "It seems this shop is full of liars today," she commented. "You did something, I know you did. He was fine until he looked at you. Why is that?"

"He doesn't seem much older than us, perhaps he recently graduated Hogwarts and recognised my face."

"And that would cause terror, why?"

"I don't know," he frowned.

She scoffed. "What did you do? Torture him? Bully him? Have your minions kick the crap out of him?"

"You truly think so little of me?" He questioned, his voice hinting hurt.

"Yes," she said without fear. "I know you, Riddle. I've seen you at your worst. I know what you're capable of."

As if saying something she shouldn't have, Hermione gasped, let her eyes widen and she slapped her hand over her mouth. It was part of the plan. He'd been pushing her buttons all day; it was time to take back control.

Riddle looked positively gleeful as he stepped forward, caging her between him and the counter at her back and he leaned in close, his hands settling against the counter on either side of her and he stared down into her horrified eyes.

"You've _seen_ me," his voice lowered. "Oh, you clever little witch. Thank you for confirming what I already knew. Tell me, have seen me in the past, or the future?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," she lied, her hand dropping from her mouth.

He smirked. "Hermione, it seems this shop is full of liars today," he muttered softly, his gazing boring into hers.

Her eyes widened for real and she found her breathing halt to a stop when he leaned closer, the tip of his cold nose brushing her throat as he nuzzled at her.

Her father's words suddenly slammed into her like a ton of bricks.

Why was he doing this? Did he truly want more than she'd previously realised or was he doing it to make her feel uncomfortable, to get under her skin and make her squirm? She didn't know what to do, she felt a battle brewing. Should she shove him away, deny any chance of a relationship whether he wanted one or not, should she tug him close and play it up, should she give in and let him seduce her? It was all too much.

"I hear you're interested in the Azkaban collection," a voice sounded.

Hermione shoved Riddle away from her and glared at him before turning to face an older looking man, refusing to blush at the comprising position he'd found them in.

"Yes, I am," she stated.

"May I ask what for?"

"You may, but I won't answer."

He cocked an eyebrow, his green eyes observing her curiously. "Fair enough, your contribution to the charity of disadvantaged children?"

Hermione silently reached out and shoved the galleon pouch across the desk, the older man catching it and peering inside, his eyes lighting up.

"Excellent, your contribution is very much appreciated and will help many children in need."

"Yes, I'm sure it will," she responded dryly.

"Follow me," he beckoned, leading the way through the stacks and to the back of the shop.

"What's the Azkaban collection?" Riddle asked.

She peered up at him, she was going to trust him with this. She knew she shouldn't, but she was going to. To earn trust, you had to give it. She was taking the first step whether he knew it or not. Besides, this was nothing too terrible, probably a little worse than the Restricted Section, of which, children had access to with a pass.

"You'll see and I'm sure you'll approve."

They came to a stop at a dead-end only the wizard waved his wand and a door appeared, which he opened and stepped inside, waiting for them to follow.

The moment Tom stepped into the room, the dark aura brushed his over his skin, a shiver shooting down his spine.

"Answer enough for you?" She asked him.

"Most definitely," he nodded in agreement, his eyes greedily scanning the shelves containing hundreds of books, all of them dark, illegal, archaic or all three. How did she know of such a place? Scanning the titles on his right, he'd only heard tales of their existence. He'd expect to find such works in Knockturn Alley, not Flourish and Blotts, kiddies books.

"You have fifteen minutes."

The door shut behind them and Hermione pulled her wand, shooting a ball of light above to better light the room. He was itching to get his hands on some of the titles but knew better than to touch them, they were dark for a reason, most of them cursed. Instead, he followed her as she slowly browsed each bookshelf, her fingers hovering over each title as she passed but never touching.

"Boring... Boring... Read that one... And that one... Boring... Oh Merlin, _dreadfully_ boring... Possibly... Nearly put me to sleep... Interesting... Maybe... Definitely not... Ewe, Necromancy, disgusting... Necrophilia, why on earth... Revolting... Oh, interesting... Hmm, perhaps... Divination, give me a break... Now, there you are, just the one I've been looking for, come to mamma..."

She levitated a book from the shelf, careful not to touch it but he hadn't gotten a glimpse at the title, she was too quick and he'd been too distracted listening to her internal-external musings. Damn was the witch interesting. He loathed her for it, he admired her for it.

"Well, we're here, might as well get the others, too," she said to herself, levitating a number of books ensuring she didn't touch them and they didn't touch each other. She looked over to him, his expression remarkably blank given what she was showing him. "I love a good challenge, don't you? Let's go, we don't have long until we're due back at the castle, and seeing as you didn't interrupt me or annoy me during my search, I might just buy you that pie after all. Come along, Riddle."

She flicked her wand, stepping out of the room and he followed after her, noting the books fitted with an Illusion Charm to hide their true titles and contents.

"How do you plan to sneak them into the castle?" He asked curiously.

She turned to look over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow. "Sneak?" She laughed. "Riddle, I plan to _walk_ in with them. They won't be detected."

"How?"

She smirked. "I have my ways."

"If you are interested in such titles, why not search the Restricted Section?"

"I have, I was bored after a week."

His brow furrowed. "You require a pass to enter," he said knowingly, besides, he spent a _lot of_ time there; he'd never once seen her.

"Do you?"

"Yes," he narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, oops,"

She placed the books on the counter, the older wizard wrapping each of them carefully, making sure not to touch them.

"You are aware..." He started but she interrupted him.

"Yes, yes, if I die, my fault, if I get injured, cursed, possessed, all the fun stuff, it's my fault."

Tom's eyebrows shifted upwards.

Who in the name of Merlin was this witch?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for implied and attempted sexual assault!
> 
> Page count: 25

**Hogwarts - Saturday 28th October 1944**

Staring at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection, Hermione, and not for the first time, missed Ginny.

Ginny would know exactly what to say to boost her confidence. Ginny would know exactly how much makeup to apply to keep it minimal and natural, but also noticeable. Ginny would know exactly what charms to use to calm her wild curls and fix her hair in an elegant updo that would most compliment her facial structure. She’d know exactly what accessories and shoes would compliment her gown.

Hermione would not have gotten through the Yule Ball back in her fourth year had it not been for the fiery redhead, she would not have gotten through her first official date with Viktor Krum when they’d snuck off to Hogsmeade during one of the open weekends, and she wouldn’t have gotten through Bill and Fleur's wedding either. It was times like these when she truly appreciated the little Weasley’s eye for fashion and detail. But without her there, she’d had to make do with what she had, hoping she’d look even remotely decent.

Hermione wasn’t vain and never had been, but was it so bad to want to look nice every once in a while?

Sighing to herself, her eyes scanned her appearance. Why was the Halloween Ball already upon them? It seemed to have skipped ahead a few weeks. That morning when she’d woken, she hadn’t felt like attending breakfast and had snuck down to the kitchens, it being early enough and a Saturday that she’d barely encountered anyone. She’d taken breakfast, sitting at one of the tables as the house-elves bustled around, preparing for the feast later that evening. She’d returned to her room and spent the majority of her time reading from her newly acquired books, snacking on the foods Tiggy had sent up for her, a house-elf that had taken quite a shine to her and she didn’t mind, he was a sweetheart and he very much reminded her of Dobby only not as _nuts_.

Before she knew it, it had grown dark and she’d groaned to herself, knowing she’d best get ready as she’d spend most of her wrestling with her hair. Begrudgingly, she’d lowered her book and stood from her comfortable couch, trudging to the bathroom. She’d taken a shower, staying under the spray of the water for as long as she dared before wrapping her hair in a towel and her body in a silk bathrobe, the same pale blue as her bedsheets.

She’d spent almost ten minutes before the mirror, struggling with what to do next before selecting a book on Beauty Charms and leafing through it, gingerly applying a thin layer of mascara to her eyelashes and a nude glittered eye shadow. Not trusting herself with anything else, she’d lathered herself in her favourite honey-scented lotion and then stepped into her dress, using magic to do up the hidden zip in the back.

After turning her attention to her hair, she’d used a Drying Charm until it fell down her back in soft, unruly ringlets, taking a moment to decide what to do with it. She’d already discarded the idea of using Sleakeazey’s Potion, one, it had not yet been invented and two, whilst the results for the Yule Ball had been good, several hair washes were required to remove all traces of the potion and it left an odd burnt smell for almost two weeks after. She’d rather the wild hair than the lingering smell and gooey, sticky substance. As such, she did her best to tie it against the nape of her neck in an elegant updo, huffing in annoyance when rebel curls kept escaping. Hermione had used more hairpins than any woman had a right to own.

Releasing a growl, she scowled at her reflection and added _another_ pin, clipping a curl back into place and leaving one or two to frame her face. Knowing she wasn’t going to do much better, she settled for what she’d already achieved. Releasing a puff of breath, she smoothed her hands down the soft, silky fabric of her gown, admiring the simplicity of it. Her gown, whilst not overly revealing or inappropriate, was tight and fit to her frame like a second skin. Her arms and shoulders were covered, the sleeves falling all the way down to her wrists. The dress hinted at cleavage with a slight v-neck but was appropriate for the time period, and it cinched in at the waist before flaring down to her feet, the skirt swishing and swaying when she walked. Not trusting herself to accessorise correctly, she’d settled with what she usually wore, her silver studded earrings and the phoenix pendant her father had gifted her for her birthday.

Catching a glimpse of the time from her still in effect Time Charm, Hermione knew she had to leave if she was going to be punctual, being expected to meet her escort to the ball by the great hall doors. She reached for her glasses and scowled at them as she slipped them on her nose; she hadn’t had a problem with them before but when she wore them for long periods of time, they started to rub against the bridge of her nose or behind her ears, and when she fell asleep reading with them still on, she’d wake with marks and indentations in her skin.

Looking over her shoulder at Athena perched on the footboard of her bed, Hermione said,

“What do you think, Girl?” Athena flapped her wings and released a squawk, tipping her head slightly to the side. “Thank you,” Hermione replied, smoothing out her dress once more. “I shall leave the window open for you but remember to be careful not to be seen. I know you like to bring me gifts and I appreciate the gesture, but please, do not bring mice or rats in here, dead or alive.” Athena released another squawk. “Good girl,” she praised, softly stroking her vibrant feathers as she walked past, collecting her wand, cancelling the Time Charm and slipping it up her sleeve before leaving her rooms.

She met very few people as she journeyed down to the great hall, being sure to take every secret passageway she knew but also knowing she and her escort were meeting a little earlier than most, wanting to have no issue with finding a seat for the feast.

As she approached the great hall, the doors were already open and voices could be heard coming from inside, some witches being escorted in on the arm of their date, giggling madly. She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

As she neared, she caught sight of him. Her escort for the evening and a near-fond smile tugged at her mouth. He looked remarkably similar to his Grandson, Hermione thought. He stood tall at six foot, his posture perfect and his hands clasped behind his back as he waited by the doors. His hair was a shade darker than his Grandson’s had been but it was still blonde and his eyes a shade darker of blue, but they had the same pale skin and the same small nose free of freckles or blemishes. His robes were dark and perfectly pressed, put quite simple compared to some of the more traditional styles she’d seen others wearing, both in this time and her previous one. She appreciated that. They’d both blend in.

She’d been surprised when he’d approached her in the library, shyly asking if he might be her escort. She hadn’t been lying to Riddle, he _had_ looked so hopeful and the thought of hurting his feelings hadn’t settled well with her, so she’d agreed. But she’d also accepted his invitation because she knew his Grandson, not well mind, but they’d been in the same year at Hogwarts and from what she remembered, Ernie Macmillan had been quiet but sweet. He’d been a member of the DA and she’d caught sight of him fighting during the Final Battle. Like his Grandfather, he’d been a Hufflepuff. They were harmless.

“Michael,” Hermione greeted, placing a friendly smile on her face.

Michael Macmillan turned his eyes to her, a smile pulling at his face.

“Hermione,” he replied, holding his hand out to her as she closed the distance between them. “You look lovely,” he complimented, taking his hand in hers and bowing over it before returning to full height.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. You, however, are looking quite dapper this evening.”

His smile widening, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Should we find a table?”

Hermione nodded and fell into step beside him as they stepped into the great hall, Hermione not paying attention to where Macmillan was leading them as her eyes surveyed her surroundings. It most certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d remembered the Halloween Feasts from her own years at Hogwarts and they differed vastly. She’d expected the house tables to remain where they were and piled with food, for jack o’ lanterns to be floating above and for bats to flitter above the hall. It wasn’t that. There were no house tables, rather a large number of circular tables fitted with dark table cloths, reminding her of the layout of the Yule Ball.

Lit torches lined the walls and thousands of candles floated above, the enchanted ceiling depicting a dark but clear starry night sky. Black candelabras were perched on the windowsill of each window, bronze in the centre of each table and tall black ones in each corner of the room, on either side of the doors and either side of the head’s table, which remained. A raised platform sat a collection of musical instruments, an orchestra she supposed, but given the lack of chairs, they would be charmed to play themselves. Charmed skulls were set up along with an Alchemy display, cobwebs covering the vials and equipment and the chandeliers above. It was a lot darker than she’d thought it would be, more gothic, she realised. That was the difference between Dippet and Dumbledore.

“They use the same decorations every year,” Macmillan spoke from beside her, drawing her attention. “Dippet is fond of his traditions, I just think he’s lazy,” he commented and Hermione made a humming noise of agreement. “But despite that, I can’t help but be impressed.”

“It is impressive,” she agreed. “I will never tire of the magic in this castle,” her eyes tipping up to the ceiling once more.

They reached a table which was already almost filled, only a few seats available and he held her chair out for her like the Pureblood he was, tucking her in before taking a seat beside her. Macmillan was welcomed by the other occupants, (all Hufflepuffs, she thought) they barely glanced at her. It didn’t bother her and she’d prefer it that way. Once they’d taken their seats, Macmillan fell quiet but that didn’t bother her either as she silently sipped from her water and continued to survey her surroundings.

Not long later, all seats were taken and the staff had arrived, Dippet stood to make a speech. Hermione almost fell asleep. For someone how looked to be on their deathbed and could barely stand without aid, he sure could talk a load of nonsense, most of which, she blocked out. The moment he retook his seat, food appeared on their tables and Hermione barely stopped herself from sighing. She was starving.

Quietly, she selected her food items and ate in silence, quiet conversation happening around her but Macmillan remained silent. She wondered why. When he’d asked her to the ball, he’d been shy but had managed to get the words out. He’d spoken more to her during her arrival and their entrance than he ever had, and now, he was silent again, but, she didn’t question it and let it be. She had no intention of staying the entirety of the night. She’d have her dinner and perhaps a dance or two and then she’d make her excuses and leave.

Before she knew it, the feast was over and the ball officially began. Tables were banished to make way for the dance floor but a few remained behind so students could mingle and take a rest. Hermione remained in her seat with Macmillan whilst the rest of their table surrounded the dance floor with the majority of the students. Tom Riddle stood in the centre, dressed smartly in perfectly pressed dark robes that contrasted against his skin. His hair was neatly combed, not a single strand out of place and his dress shoes had a shine that allowed for reflections to be seen. She rolled her eyes and sipped at her water. Of course, he would be perfect. Hillary Denvors stood opposite him, clothed in a yellow, conservative gown that complimented her skin tone well. Hermione thought she looked quite pretty with her usually straight hair hanging in loose waves, a half-up half-down hairstyle that framed her face. Riddle didn’t look impressed. His face remained passive.

When the orchestra began, Riddle stepped forward and took Denvors’ hand in his, beginning a dance that was similar to the opening dance she’d done with Viktor, only it was slightly slower and there didn’t appear to be any lifts. As she’d expected, he led Denvors around the dance floor smoothly, his movements graceful and poised. When the music ended, applause rang out and another melody played, most of the students stepping onto the floor and partaking in the festivities, some returned to the small number of tables and others moved off to the side, conversing with one another by the walls or the drinks table which had been set up.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure how long had passed but she was growing bored and tired, she’d almost dozed off and spilt her water over her lap. When she saw the younger years starting to take their leave, having been expected to vacate the hall after a certain time, she took that as her signal. Soon she’d been able to slip away. But first, she had to keep up appearances. She’d been more than aware of both Dumbledore and Riddle watching her, though one had been subtler than the other.

She turned her eyes to Macmillan. He’d barely spoken to her.

“Michael, would you care for a quick spin about the dance floor? It seems such a waste to not enjoy it whilst we can.”

He lifted his eyes to her, a smile pulling at her mouth. “I’d love to.”

He stood from his chair and held his hand out expectantly, Hermione placing her hand in his and accepting his aid in rising from the chair. He led her to the dance floor and through the crowd of students, his hand slipping to her waist and not wandering any lower as he quickly fell into step with the music.

Hermione had never been a great dancer but with Viktor, it hadn’t mattered. He knew what he was doing and she’d trusted him and that trust led her to have a great time that night as he led her about the dance floor effortlessly despite his large frame leading people to believe he wouldn’t be grateful. Macmillan, while being far from a bad dancer, messed up a step or two and wasn’t as graceful when leading her about the dance floor but she was sure to keep a friendly expression on her face. Thankfully, the two dances she’d planned to have come and went and he led her from the dance floor and that’s when Hermione made her excuses.

“But you can’t leave yet,” he frowned. “We’ve barely been here a couple of hours.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, Michael, but I cannot help that I have a migraine. The music is quite loud this evening and I am not used to such crowds.”

His frown deepened before he gave his head a shake. “Okay,” he nodded once. “But you can’t leave until you’ve tried the punch. They only serve it during tonight’s feast. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Seeing his hopeful expression, Hermione reluctantly agreed and she stood off to the side, tucked away from the other students when he disappeared to the refreshments table. Hermione closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the wall but when she felt a presence before her, she released a groan. She knew who it was without looking.

“Riddle,” she greeted without opening her eyes. “Having a pleasant evening?”

“It is tolerable,” he replied and she released an unladylike snort before opening her eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” She arched her brow, seeing his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes slowly took in her appearance.

“You clean up well.”

“Thank you, it’s a shame the same can’t be said for you.”

His ice-blue eyes flashed with annoyance before it vanished, replaced with amusement.

“My, I had thought your _date_ would improve your mood, I see he has not.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly and made to retort only he spoke over her.

“Silver?” He arched his brow.

Her eyes fell down to her dress, seeing the pale silver colouring sparkling when the candlelight caught it just right.

“Yes, it is, you know your colours. Well done,” she praised, smiling angelically.

Must to her surprise, he rolled her eyes.

“Where is your date?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s getting us refreshments. And since you’re head boy, I feel it only my duty to warn you, I spotted Dolohov spiking the punch earlier.”

“I never took you for a tattletale, Nilrem.”

Hermione scoffed. “Please, Riddle, give me more credit. I don’t care what he does, however, if he’s going to do such a thing, I suggest he be less conspicuous. Had the professors seen I’m sure he would have received detention and such behaviour reflects badly on you as he is affiliated with you.”

 _Damn her_ , he thought. She was right. He’d have to have a talk with the bloody Russian bastard.

“And since when do you care for my reputation?”

“Oh, I don’t, couldn’t give a toss, really. But I thought it only polite I warn you. I’m just glad he waited until _after_ the fourth years and below took their leave. I don’t envy your responsibilities; I can only imagine what you’d be dealing with when you’d have half the school population hungover the next day, especially those younger than fourteen.”

“It will not be a pleasant experience,” he agreed. “So, Macmillan is your date?”

She tipped her head. “Yes?”

He shrugged nonchalantly but his eyes gave him away. Something flashed in them. He wasn’t happy.

“But I don’t see how my choice in company this evening is any of your business.”

“A Hufflepuff? I had higher expectations of you.”

She snorted. “I live up to no one’s expectations but my own. Gryffindors are loud and brash, Ravenclaws judgmental and tedious, Slytherins conniving and manipulate, Hufflepuffs are kind. Safe. He was a safe option.”

“You are a Ravenclaw,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I admit I can be judgemental but I am far from tedious,” her mouth tugged into a smirk worthy of any Slytherin when she saw his mouth twitch in the corners, fighting off what she thought might’ve been a smile. “Enough about my date, I suggest you get back to your own.”

“She is powdering her nose in the bathroom,” he replied, the annoyance in his tone unhidden.

Hermione released a snort. “Oh, she’s one of them, is she? How many times has she powdered her nose since your arrival? But, you are mistaken, she is no longer in the bathroom, she is stood beside Malfoy and his date, glaring at me.”

Riddle subtly looked over his shoulder and turned back to her., his mouth tugging at the corners once more.

“So she is,” he agreed, unfazed.

“Amanda Selwyn? I had higher expectations of you,” she fed his words back to him.

Looking over his shoulder -the small heel of her shoes adding a little to her height allowing her to do so- she saw Amanda Selwyn glaring at her murderously.

Obviously someone hadn’t told her that the burnt orange of her gown was a hideous colour or that the amount of makeup she was wearing made her look like a clown. Her hair, however, Hermione could admit to being pretty. It was a honey blonde and styled in waves, pinned back in an elaborate updo with crystal entwined in her hair. She was considered one of the prettiest witches in the school with her dark eyes, tanned skin and tall, poised frame. Hermione couldn’t remember if she was already set to marry or not, but she supposed it didn’t matter. She didn’t know much about her, only that she was a sixth year.

“Oh, you do not approve of my choice in date?” His eyes flashed victoriously.

 _Ah, so that’s what he’s was doing_ , Hermione thought, _attempting to make her jealous._

“It’s none of my business,” she shrugged lightly. “However, I get the feeling she’s jealous that you’re over here talking to me and not with her. Why is that? Is she just boring or annoying? I know you, you haven’t the patience of a Saint to put up with someone like her for long.”

“Someone like her?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, a pampered Pureblood heiress who’s never had to work a day in her life and thinks she owns the world, that she’s special because mummy and daddy tell her she is. Everything she has was given to her on a silver platter. You and I, on the hand, work hard for our achievements.”

 _She wasn’t wrong_ , he admitted. She’d more or less hit the nail on the head and he was sure she’d never spoken a single world to the witch. If he were honest with himself, she was a massive pain in his arse and she’d spent most of the evening droning on about finding a suitable husband and not being remotely subtle with the looks she gave him. He’d chosen her for the simple fact she was a Pureblood heiress, someone with power and sway over her father, and she was popular amongst his housemates due to her beauty. Beauty, whilst valuable, couldn’t get you everywhere in life and unfortunately for Selwyn, there wasn’t much in the upstairs department. Not that it mattered, he supposed. She’d be married off and provide on heir and spare for her spouse and her purpose in life would be done. It was the case for all Pureblood witches.

“And, I feel it only right I warn you. If she _attempts_ to maim me, my response will _not_ be kind and I’ll be sure to reciprocate the only way I know how.”

“And that is?” He asked curiously.

Her mouth tugged in a smirk. “You have your ways of punishment, I have mine.”

His flashed. _Had she_ seen _something?_

“Oh, look, here comes my date now. Perhaps you should return to yours before she breaks a heel when she marches over here. I would _not_ want to be on the receiving end of her whining.”

Riddle hummed. “Might we share a dance?”

“ _Fortunately_ , Riddle, I am leaving any moment now. I promised Macmillan I would try the punch before I do so. I have tolerated as much of this evening as I am able to.”

“Another time, perhaps,” he tipped his head.

“Perhaps,” she replied.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to be the one to move, she pushed away from the wall and brushed past him, realising he’d done it on purpose when his mouth twitched in amusement as she glared up at him.

She didn’t glance back at him as she walked over to Macmillan, schooling her features into a friendly smile as he approached, two goblets held in his grasp and a furrowed brow on his face.

“What did Riddle want?” Macmillan asked, handing her one of the goblets.

“Thank you,” she replied. “Oh, nothing to worry about.”

“Hermione, he can’t be trusted, he’s dangerous,” he insisted.

Hermione barely stopped her eyebrows from shooting up on her forehead. “I assure you, I can handle Riddle. He just wanted to know when I would be returning a book to the library. There is only one copy of the book I checked out and we both require it for an extra credit assignment we are completing for Slughorn.”

“I’d forgotten how smart you are.”

“I was sorted to Ravenclaw for a reason.”

He let the subject drop, falling quiet once more and only when he took a sip from his goblet did Hermione do so too, wincing at the slight burn as the liquid passed down her throat. Of all the things, Dolohov had used fire whiskey. Why?

“What do you think of the punch?”

“In all honesty, I can’t taste much else but the fire whiskey.”

“Picked up on that, did you?”

“It’s hard not to,” she nodded.

When she’d finished her spiked punch, Macmillan convinced her to one more dance before insisting he escorted her back to her dorm, Hermione, seeing no harm in one final dance and knowing she’d have to sneak away from Ravenclaw Tower and back to her own dorm once he escorted her there.

One dance turned into two which turned into three and by the end of the third dance, a strange feeling began in her stomach and her head grew a little fuzzy. She accidentally gripped Macmillan’s shoulder a little too tight and she stumbled into him, him catching her with both hands on her waist.

“You alright?” He frowned.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she shook her head. “Just tired, I think it’s best I call it a night get some sleep.”

“Okay, let’s get you back to Ravenclaw Tower,” he agreed.

He led her through the crowd and out through the doors, the strange feeling in Hermione’s stomach growing stronger with each step she took and a hot flush tinted her skin pink. When she stepped out into the corridor, she stumbled in her steps, her vision spotty at best and she fanned herself with the hand that wasn’t holding onto Macmillan.

“Where are we going? The stairs are the other way,” Hermione spoke, her breathing picking up and her heart thumping in her chest.

“Short cut, I use it all the time when I’m running late to class,” Macmillan answered.

“How long will it take?” She breathed out. “I really need to get to bed.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be in bed before you know it. I promise.”

She continued to stumble in her steps, the only thing keeping her upright being Macmillan’s arm settled around her waist as she was tucked into his side. The longer they walked, the more she noticed the corridor grew darker, barely any light but for single torches lining the walls at intervals. She vaguely recognised it. There were in the dungeons.

“What are we doing in the dungeons?”

“There’s a staircase hidden down here, it leads to a classroom not far from the Tower.”

Hermione didn’t remember seeing a staircase in the dungeons on the Marauder’s Map, but maybe it was closed off or destroyed before it’d been created. Maybe the Marauder’s hadn’t found it and that’s why it wasn’t on the map.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. After a few more stumbled steps, she paused. “Wait, wait, I need a minute.”

She weakly pulled herself away from him and slumped against the wall, sighing when the coolness of the stone helped to soothe her heated skin. She blew a curl out of her face as she continued to fan herself and her eyes fell shut. Her stomach knotted painfully, her heart raced.

“I’m sorry, Michael, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” her chest heaved.

Feeling a presence, her eyes opened slowly. Michael stood before her, looking down at her innocently.

Something was wrong.

“Michael?”

“I think I might know what’s wrong with you. I can help if you let me.”

Releasing a quiet grown her knotted stomach cramped tighter, her head fell back against the wall behind her and her eyes grew heavy. A sigh unbidden slipped past her lips when she felt warm lips press against her neck and not being able to focus, to think clearly, she tilted her head, allowing better access. Hands settled against her hips and a body pressed up against hers, pinning against the wall behind her.

“Hmmm?” She hummed, both in question and approval when those lips blazed a trail down to her collar bone and to the other side of her neck. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Relax,” a voice whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down her spine. “Everything will be fine, I promise.”

Those same lips nibbled at a spot beneath her ear, pulling a soft moan from the back of her throat and she felt them moving higher, up past her jaw and across her cheek and then they pressed against hers.

Something was wrong. She should stop. Why couldn’t she think clearly? Why couldn’t she focus?

A tongue forced its way into her mouth and she was helpless to stop it, a moan catching in the back of her throat when it brushed against her own languidly and she was helpless but to respond, her hands moving to grip a fistful of robes and her mouth and tongue moving languidly. Heat crawled up her skin, the pint tint darkening, the feeling her stomach grew more intense and unknowingly, she rubbed her thighs together, searching for friction.

When those lips tore from hers, she released a pleading whine.

“Damn, Nilrem,” a voice muttered. “You snog like the devil. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? After all, I would know.”

She opened her eyes, half-lidded as they were and they were glassy. She felt his grip on her hips tightened and he took a breath.

“Shite! Don’t look at me like that. I was supposed to wait,” he shook his head. “It’s his own fault, he should’ve gotten here sooner,” he muttered and then his mouth was back on hers and her eyes fluttered closed once more.

There was something desperate about the way he kissed her and Hermione didn’t stop him when he parted her legs with his knee, pressing it up against her centre. A moan caught in his mouth, her hands tightened on his robes and she felt liquid heat pool south, her hips rocking in search of friction.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, suddenly lifting her from the ground and her legs were quick to wrap around him as he pressed her into the wall and fused their mouths back together.

“What the hell! Macmillan!”

He groaned and Hermione made a pleading whimper when he pulled his mouth from hers, her eyes opening slightly and seeing someone approaching. He wore robes similar in colour and style to Macmillan’s but that was the only similarity. His hair was short and dark, his eyes a stormy grey and his skin golden brown. He was shorter than Macmillan but had more muscle, as was clear in the way his robes fit against him. Maybe he played Quidditch?

“It’s not my fault, Carrow,” he argued, glaring at him. “You should’ve been here ages ago and she snogs like the bloody devil. You’d have done the same.”

“I couldn’t get away from Beatrice, the bitch won’t leave me alone.”

“Is that any way to talk about your intended?” Macmillan arched a brow.

“I’ll kill the cow before I marry her,” he scowled, stopping in his steps beside him and his gaze darting to Hermione. “This her then?”

“No, it’s Slughorn,” Macmillan snarked, receiving a glare. “’Course it’s her, you idiot. You’ve taken one too many bludgers to the head.”

“Shut it, Macmillan,” he snapped, his eyes darting back to Hermione. “She’s pretty,” he decided after his eyes gave her the once over.

“Oh, she’s so much more than that,” Macmillan promised, settling Hermione back on her feet but not pulling back from her, a whine being torn from her throat when he nuzzled at her neck.

“What’ve you got on her?”

“Word has it, she’s a Half-blood. Her dad was some kind of powerful wizard that pissed off Grindelwald, got his muggle wife and himself killed for it, leaving her an orphan. She transferred here this year.”

“Not bad,” Carrow tipped his head. “She any good?”

“See for yourself,” he shrugged, prying Hermione’s hands off his robes and stepping back, allowing Carrow to step before her.

“Who are you?” Hermione panted, her mind spinning until she felt dizzy.

“Alec Carrow,” he replied, tipping his head to peer down into her glassy eyes. “Shite, if you were looking at him like that, it’s no wonder he couldn’t wait. Tell me, you ever had a Beater between your thighs?”

“Yes,” she replied groggily. “And a Seeker.”

“Really?” Both eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Got a thing for Quidditch players do you?” His mouth twitched.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Macmillan piped up, propping his shoulder against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

“So it would seem,” Carrow replied, lowering his head and brushing his nose over her throat. “She smells nice,” he muttered.

“I noticed that, too,” Macmillan nodded.

“Let’s see how she tastes...” He trailed off, his mouth pressing against hers without warning and forcing his tongue to part her lips, brushing against hers.

A noise caught in the back of her throat and her hands bunched in his robes, pulling him further into her. He stumbled under the force, pinning her into the wall behind her and his hands settled on her hips, squeezing tightly.

Why was she doing this? Why couldn’t she stop?

Macmillan chuckled from the side.

Carrow regrettably tore his mouth from hers and took a deep breath, his gaze not leaving her half-lidded eyes.

“Well, shit!” He cursed.

“I told you,” Macmillan shrugged.

“I think she’s my favourite yet. Trust me, Love,” he gazed at her, “We are going to have a _lot_ of fun.”

“I know,” Macmillan agreed, leaning over and nipping at her neck. Hermione sighed and her hand came up to hold him in place whilst Carrow furrowed his brow and then moved to the other side of her neck, giving it the same attention. “We should probably get her to the room before anyone sees us.”

“Too late.”

They both froze at the sound of the foreign voice, slowly pulling back from Hermione as she weakly tried to stop them, her arms falling down her sides as she slumped back into the wall, struggling to keep her head upright.

Tom Riddle stood in the corridor, his expression passive but his eyes furious and his body tense, his magic swarming the small space heavily, darkly. Behind him stood Nott, Malfoy, Avery, Rosier, Lestrange and Dolohov, their expression grave and worrisome.

“Riddle?” Hermione’s mind cleared a little before going foggy once more, his eyes darting to her and then back to the two wizards.

“What are you doing here, Riddle?” Carrow asked bravely, stepping further away from Hermione. 

“I think the question is, _what_ are _you_ doing here?”

“Just stumbled across a witch in need of help,” he replied.

“Macmillan, Miss. Nilrem was your date, was she not?”

“Yes, I believe she may have had one drink too many and the cold air’s made it worse. I was just taking her back to her dorm.”

Riddle’s eyes darkened and his magic grew thicker in the air, suffocating.

“She had _one_ drink the entire evening, aside from water,” Riddle replied knowingly.

Macmillan and Carrow shared a worried glance. The only way he’d have known that was if he’d been purposefully watching her closely. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone. Shit! He was _interested_ in this witch, wasn’t he? Their eyes gazed at him worriedly.

“What did you give her?”

“Nothing, I suspect the punch was spiked. It is not my fault she can’t handle her alcohol.”

Riddle took a step forward, his eyes filled with fury but he paused when Malfoy set a hand on his shoulder, muttering something to him.

“We witnessed what you were doing to her. If she is inebriated, why were you taking advantage of her?” Malfoy asked, his silver eyes darting between them and Riddle.

A gasp sounded from Hermione and all eyes turned to her when she struggled to stay upright, falling to the floor with a groan, barely catching herself on her hands as her head bowed.

“Malfoy, you’re in charge. You know what to do. Find out what you can, do not let them leave until I arrive and do not let Dolohov kill them,” Riddle instructed.

“Yes, My Lord,” Malfoy tipped his head, both him and Rosier stepping forward.

Sensing the danger, Macmillan and Carrow pulled their wands but were disarmed before they had the chance to defend themselves or cast a curse, Silencing Charms quickly following suit, preventing them from making any noise when they were restrained and led forward as they struggled to break free. Riddle watched them leave down the corridor before turning his eyes to Hermione.

“Riddle? I don’t know what’s wrong,” Hermione panted, screwing her eyes shut tightly and groaning, her body sinking back into the wall behind her.

With a furrowed brow, he approached and crouched down before her, his hand coming up to cup her chin and tilting it back so he could look into her half-lidded eyes.

“I believe you were slipped something,” he explained calmly.

“What? But Macmillan’s a Hufflepuff!”

“He is,” he nodded, unsure whether to be furious or impressed that he’d fooled them _both_.

His eyes slowly travelled her form, taking in the symptoms. Shortness of breath, sweating, flushed skin, glassy eyes.

It wasn’t a Love Potion, if it had been, she would’ve put up a fight when Carrow and Macmillan were escorted away from her, her eyes wouldn’t be so glassy, either.

That left one option. A Lust Potion, but something seemed off. She wasn’t as, for lack of a better term, aggressive, with fulfilling the needs the potion instilled. In fact, she seemed to be the opposite, groggy and unfocused. It had been altered, he realised. This was planned. No one would suspect a shy Hufflepuff of being capable of such a thing, and from what he knew of Carrow, he was a bastard with the brains to alter a potion without it exploding in his face. It was a joint effort. He was certain this wasn’t the first time they’d done it, only this time, they’d been caught.

Had he not been purposely watching her, he wouldn’t have seen her ingest only one goblet of the whiskey-spiked punch, he wouldn’t have seen her stumble in her steps and looking a little _off_ , and he wouldn’t have thought to follow her as she was escorted out of the hall. They would have been successful in their plans. The altered Lust Potion made it so the witch would neither put up a fight, but also that she physically couldn’t. Rage boiled within him. She was his and they’d attempted to harm her!

A low groan fell passed her lips and her eyes shut, an arm winding around her stomach as her head fell back against the wall.

“I...I can’t think...” She panted. “ _Fuck_! It’s unbearable.”

His eyebrow rose at the expletive but he otherwise didn’t comment. His eyes darted down the deserted, dark corridor. His decision made, he reached for her, his hand lifting her arm and hooking it over his shoulder, as he wound the other around her waist, lifting her from the ground and to her feet.

“Riddle! Don’t do that,” she muttered weakly.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t touch me. It’s uncomfortable, my stomach’s in knots, it flares up with skin to skin contact.”

His eyes trailed her glassy, half-lidded eyes and her tilted head as it rested against his shoulder. It was no wonder as to why Carrow and Macmillan had gotten distracted. With her looking the way she did now, there was irresistible about her and for the first time, he found it hard to not picture her in such a manner.

“Where are we going?” She muttered, stumbling in her steps not only due to the influence of the potion, but his much larger height, too.

Releasing a sigh, Riddle halted in his steps and without warning he swept her off her feet and into his arms, continuing down the corridor at a much faster pace.

“Put me down,” she protested weakly.

He snorted. “I am helping you, Nilrem.”

“That’ll be the day,” she scoffed.

“So, have you _seen_ anything lately?” He asked conversationally.

“Yes, in the very near future I will break your nose.”

“Charming, and that’s the thanks I get for stepping in when you’re vulnerable and being taken advantage of.”

“I never asked you to! Put me down, I can get to my dorm just fine.”

Her head partially lolled back and partially tilted to rest against his shoulder. “No, you can’t,” he rolled his eyes. Had ever met a more stubborn witch?

When they reached the Slytherin common room, he muttered the password and the portrait swung open, allowing them entrance. Hermione barely glanced around, seeing the dark wood furnishings, stone floor and walls, large fireplace and metal chandeliers above. It was dark, gloomy and silent, there being no one present.

She briefly noted Riddle ascending a staircase, passing seven doors before stopping at a dead end, an eighth and final door being on the left wall. He muttered something beneath his breath and the door swung open, Riddle stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him.

This room was similar in size and decor to her own, only silver and green replaced the chocolate brown and cream. The furnishings were dark to match that of those in the common room, a desk and chair sat by a window, the wardrobe and chest of drawers being nearby. The poster bed was large with the thick green curtains tied back to the posts and a Hogwarts’ trunk by the foot of the bed. A bedside table was positioned on the right and a bookcase sat by the door with a second door being on the opposite side of the room, a bathroom, she supposed. This was Riddle’s dorm. Being head boy had its perks, it would seem. But a flicker of pride passed through her before it was gone. She had a kitchenette _and_ common area, he didn’t.

Hermione groaned when she was placed upon the bed, her back sinking into the soft mattress. She couldn’t find it in herself to think clearly, even struggling to talk, unintelligible mutters escaping her lips.

The mattress dipped beside her and she did her best to pry her eyes open, only being successful with one. Riddle sat beside her, a furrowed brow in place and a vial held in his hand.

“Drink this,” he instructed, raising it to her lips and arching an eyebrow when she didn’t open her mouth. “Don’t be so bloody stubborn, this is for your own good. The only way to escape the effects of the potion is to fulfil the purpose or wait it out, which, as you’ve already mentioned, is unbearable. I have no ill intentions towards you, it is only a Sleeping Draught, you will wake in the morning.”

Hermione eyed him warily.

“For Merlin’s sake,” he sighed. “Open up.”

“I don’t trust you,” she muttered.

“Right now, I’m the only one that is in the position to help you.”

“How do I know you won’t finish what they started?”

“You have my word. I will not harm you.”

Against her better judgement, not that she had much of it due to the influence of the Lust Potion, Hermione parted her lips, swallowing the potion as Riddle slowly tipped it into her mouth.

“We will talk in the morning,” were the last words she heard before her eyes closed, her breathing evened out and she could no longer feel the knotting in her stomach.

~000~000~0000~

Brushing his hand through his hair, Tom set the empty vial on the bedside table and then stood from the bed, staring down at the witch as she laid atop the covers. She didn’t look all that comfortable and he rolled his eyes to himself. Since when did he care?

Releasing a grumbled breath, he moved to the foot of the bed and made quick work of removing her heeled shoes, setting them on the ground before he shifted the covers out from beneath her, laying them over her to protect her from the chill in the room. It was something he was used to, it always being cold in the dungeons and he’d had seven years to adapt to it.

His eyes scanned her form, the silver of her dress peeking out beneath the covers, glittering slightly in the lit torches that lined the walls of his dorm. He considered transfiguring it into something more suitable for nightwear but quickly discarded the thought. He didn’t how she’d react in the morning or what she’d remember. It was best to not give her any reason to suspect he’d taken advantage of her or that he’d snuck a peek whilst she was sleeping.

Seeing her hair being a riotous mass of curls pinned in place, he can’t have imagined that being comfortable for her and he carefully slipped his hands into her curls, surprised by the softness as they tangled about his fingers as he set to work removing the pins. When he’d finished, there was more than he could count piled on his bedside table and her hair surrounded in a halo of wildness. He had not expected her hair to be so long, being nearly twice the length of what he’d seen the other witches in the castle sporting. It was odd but it suited her, framing her face and drawing attention to the ivory of her skin. Now he understood whilst she always wore it up, keeping it back from her face, particularly in potions. Before he stepped back, he reached for her glasses and removed them, setting them off to the side.

He tilted his head. She looked far different without them. Not as weak or unthreatening, with them she was easy to overlook but now, her natural beauty was undeniable. It was as if they acted as a mask. He couldn’t decide whether he preferred her with or without them.

Sighing to himself, he conjured a green leather armchair and took a seat by the side of the bed, leaning back, settling his right ankle against his left knee and steepling his fingers, a thoughtful expression pulled at his face as he watched her closely.

He was finding it difficult to be mad at her. She’d found herself in a dangerous situation and all without a hint of suspicion, but then, he hadn’t suspected anything either. With Carrow it hadn’t been all that surprising; Slytherins were known for being conniving and manipulative, but a damn Hufflepuff? Hermione’s words had been, _he’s a Hufflepuff, kind. The safe option_. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Tom thought he was a master of disguise but Macmillan had very nearly overtaken him. Tom was good at reading people, _very_ good, at he’d had no idea the stuttering, shy pathetic excuse of a wizard was really a mastermind. Had he discovered this information sooner and had Macmillan not target _her_ , of all people, Tom would’ve considered bringing Macmillan into the ranks, Hufflepuff or not. But that just went to prove the Sorting Hat was not always correct and could be fooled, too.

Seeing her so unlike herself, so vulnerable when she was exactly the opposite, it set off a chain reaction and one he hadn’t expected; surprise, worry, jealousy, murderous fury. Two of which, he’d never before felt and hated the experience. He was so blinded by his worry and anger that he hadn’t considered it was a bad idea to release his magic and fury in plain view of any who may happen upon them. Malfoy had been the voice of reason, but he had every intention of _speaking_ to Carrow and Macmillan himself as soon as he was able to.

Why had they targeted her? Why _her_? He couldn’t understand it. He had his own reasons for wanting her close by; he knew who she truly was and not who she appeared to be for the public. No one else did, so what motivated them to select her. Was it a crime of opportunity, possibly?

A firm knock sounded on the door and Riddle stood from his seat and approached, opening it to reveal Malfoy. He no longer wore his robes, his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his shaggy hair looked a little messier than usual.

“Yes, Malfoy?” He questioned, standing in his doorway and not allowing Malfoy to see into his dorm or the witch that was currently sleeping in his bed.

That was something he was going to have to wrap his mind around. A witch _sleeping_ in _his_ bed.

“My Lord,” he tipped his head. “They have been quite forthcoming. It seems it is something Carrow and Macmillan have done since Carrow’s fourth and Macmillan’s fifth year. Macmillan selects a witch and gets her to lower her guard before he spikes her refreshment with a Lust Potion. Under the pretence of escorting her to her dorm using a shortcut, he takes her to an abandoned classroom where Carrow is waiting. I will not repeat what was said next,” Malfoy explained, a grim expression on his face. “To prevent the witch from telling, they alter her memories.”

Riddle’s expression was furious, his ice-blue eyes blazing. Malfoy took the smallest step back.

“How many?” Riddle gritted his teeth.

“Before I took my leave, they admitted to ten and I don’t doubt there are more.”

“What were their intentions with Nilrem?”

Malfoy hesitated and rightly so, he’d never seen Riddle so furious.

“Malfoy,” his tone lowered darkly.

“They... They were rather vulgar, My Lord, and I would rather not repeat it in the presence of a woman, sleeping or not.”

Riddle’s hand clenched around his wand tightly. Trust Malfoy to be the ‘some things should not be repeated before a witch’ type of wizard. Riddle knew he’d bedded the majority of the witches old enough to be considered of age in the castle, well, disregarding the Gryffindors, of course.

Riddle took a breath. It did nothing to calm him. “Return to the others, I will send word when I need you.”

“My Lord,” Malfoy tipped his head before turning and leaving down the stairs.

Riddle closed the door and retook a seat in the armchair by the bed, his expression dark and angry but his eyes softening slightly when the witch in his bed shifted in her sleep, turning on her side to face him.

His eyes slowly trailed her face. There was a scar on her right temple, something he’d never noticed before. He wondered the cause behind it. Whilst she looked calm, he knew her to be far from peaceful, seeing the way her hand twitched or she shifted to get more comfortable. He’d given her a mild Sleeping Draught, wanting to be cautious given her previous groggy state, not wanting the potion to react badly to the traces of it mixed in with the Lust Potion. It would do him no good to accidentally harm or kill the witch he wanted, _needed_ , by his side.

Grumbling beneath his breath, he scrubbed his hands over his and stood from the chair, moving into his bathroom. Taking a moment to brush his teeth and change out of his robes, he settled on his nightwear being a pair of drawstring pyjamas before moving over to the bed. He eyed the witch on the other side cautiously before rolling his eyes to himself.

Why shouldn’t he sleep in his own bed just because she was there? As it was, she was sleeping on the right, thankfully, as he preferred the left side of the bed. Pulling the covers back and climbing into bed, he stared up at the ceiling, trying to calm his thoughts of the evening’s happenings and the witch sleeping beside him. He had not expected his evening to turn out the way it had. But he couldn’t complain, he’d come to the aid of Nilrem and she would see that she needed him and that she needed his protection.

~000~000~000~

Hermione woke to a pounding headache and unsettled stomach.

Slowly, she peeled her eyes open, blinking until her vision focused, staring up at the ceiling. The first thing she noticed was the bedsheets. They weren’t silk, rather, they appeared to be Egyptian cotton. A frown pulled at her brow and she lifted her head, taking in her surroundings and seeing that she most definitively wasn’t in her own dorm.

“I had thought you were going to sleep the day away. I never took you as the lazy type.”

Hermione startled at the voice, her head whipping around until she saw Riddle sat in a green leather armchair, lounging comfortably with a book held in his grasp, his eyes locked on hers over the top of the pages. He wore a dark green woollen jumper, black trousers and a white shirt, the collars folded over the jumper’s neckline. How could someone look so casual but royal at the same time? It was infuriating.

“Riddle?” She frowned in confusion. “Is this your dorm?” She asked slowly.

“It is,” his mouth tugged into a smile.

“So I’ve just woken in _your_ bed.”

“You have,” he confirmed.

Her frown deepened and she pushed herself into a sitting position, propping her back against the headboard but making no move to climb from the bed.

“What happened? How did I get here? _Why_ am I here?”

“Which would you like me to answer first?”

“How?” She decided.

“Well,” he snapped his book shut and slotted it beside his thigh and the armrest, clasping his now free hands together. “I brought you here, obviously.”

“Why? Where did you sleep?” She questioned, the look on her face saying she already knew the answer.

He arched an eyebrow. “Where do you think? Don’t look at me like that, Nilrem. It is _my_ bed, not yours. Be thankful I did not drop you on the floor.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why am I here and not my own dorm?”

“You do not remember?”

“Everything’s a little fuzzy, if I’m honest,” she admitted.

“To summarise, Macmillan with the aid of Alec Carrow, spiked your punch with a Lust Potion infused with Sleeping Draught properties, making you groggy and physically unable to defend yourself. I found you in the corridor of the dungeons, being pawed at and had I not arrived when I did, I imagine the evening would have gone vastly different.”

He watched her closely, she’d fallen quiet, taking a moment to process what he’d told her and he allowed that.

“They were going to rape me?” She said quietly but she didn’t sound broken or hurt, if anything, she seemed calm. That was not the reaction he’d been expecting.

“Yes,”

“Why me?”

“I do not know but I have every intention of finding out,” he replied, his voice darkening and his magic pouring from him.

Hermione turned her eyes to him. “Macmillan? Really?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“But he’s a damn _Hufflepuff_!” She fumed.

There was the anger he’d been expecting, her eyes filling with fire and her magic pouring from her, brushing against him like a breeze. His eyes fluttered for a brief moment before opening again, seeing her furious expression.

“He is,” he agreed.

Her eyes snapped to him. “You brought me here?”

“I did,” he nodded.

“Why not take me to Ravenclaw Tower?”

“We would have been seen and at the time we were in the dungeons. You were safer here.”

“With you?” She arched her brow.

“You will always be safe with me, which is something you will learn and something you will come to accept.”

“I don’t think so,” she scoffed. “Macmillan told me not to trust you, that you’re dangerous and coming from him, that isn’t exactly a glowing review, now, is it?” Her eyes fell downcast, trailing her dress covered form searchingly.

“I did not touch you in any way deemed inappropriate,” he commented.

Her eyes lifted to his distrustfully. “Oh, you’ve a vulnerable witch in your bed and you did not take advantage?”

His eyes flashed. “I understand you do not have a high opinion of me...”

“For good reason,” she interrupted.

“And I admit that I am a lot of things, but I am not one to sexually take advantage of a vulnerable witch. I am not a rapist or a pervert. I like my women willing and in a sane state of mind.”

Her eyes searched his expression, and she believed him to be telling the truth. During the war, where he’d been concerned there was always torture and murder but she’d never heard tale of rape or sexual assault. His list of redeeming qualities just went from zero to one. He is not a rapist. That settled something in her mind, she wasn’t sure what, but she felt it would make her life a little easier in knowing this about him. He had his limits.

“And _when_ I have you, you will be fully aware of what is happening and you will enjoy and remember every minute of it.”

She scoffed. “I don’t think so, Riddle. That is _not_ going to happen. Ever! I require more than a two-pump chump.”

Much to her annoyance, rather than her words angering or upsetting him, it drew a laugh from him, the sound deep and rich.

“If that’s the case, you best stay away from Avery.”

Hermione visibly gawked at him. Did he just make a joke?

“But I assure you, you won’t want to leave me when I’m through with you.”

“Have some humility,” she snapped.

“Why?” He smirked. “I _know_ I’m good looking, I’m intelligent, I’m powerful, I’m charming. I can have any witch I want but I chose you.”

“Choose someone else!”

“No one would dare fight back as you do.”

“That’s because I’m not afraid of you. I know what you’re capable of and I know I can handle you.”

“I do so love our chats, Nilrem.”

“Shove off,” she scowled, folding her arms over her chest and staring down at the floor, ignoring his infuriating smirk.

“That is not very polite. You owe me.”

“Excuse me?” She spluttered.

“I _protected_ you when you were vulnerable. Now I want something in return. I want repaying.”

“How chivalrous,” Hermione deadpanned. “Most would accept a ‘thank you’ and be on their way, but not you,” she rolled her eyes. “Very well, Riddle. You prevented me from throwing myself into a highly embarrassing and infuriating situation, of which, I’ll be sure to get my vengeance.”

“It is already being taken care of,” he waved her off, leaning back in his chair.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, punishment is currently being given,” he replied, his face passive.

She frowned before realisation smacked her in the face. _Oh, bloody hell!_

“The gesture, whilst appreciated, is _not_ needed or wanted. I am capable of handling my own affairs, Riddle.”

“There is no need for you to.”

“And why the hell are you doing this? It was _me_ that was wronged. Not you. I should be allowed to decide the next course of action, not you.”

“Is it not obvious?” He arched an eyebrow.

“No! It bloody well isn’t.”

His ice-blue eyes locked with hers, his gaze serious. “You are mine to protect. When you are wronged, I am wronged, too. It is a slight against me and I cannot tolerate such behaviour.”

“Like hell I am and like hell you are! I was almost _raped_! You weren’t the one fed a Lust Potion, and had Dolohov not spiked the bloody punch, I would’ve both smelled and tasted it, but the whiskey masked both. And he was a bloody Hufflepuff, too! How many rapist Hufflepuffs do you know? I don’t know who I’m angrier at, him for what he did or me for not seeing him for who he truly is. He’s a _Hufflepuff_!”

“If you would care to enact retribution after, that is your decision. However, they will not remember.”

“Oh, what if they do this again? I doubt this is the first time they’ve gotten away with this.”

“I don’t believe it is,” he agreed, “But, I have my ways.”

“As do I,”

“Stop arguing with me, we are simply going around in circles. We were discussing repayment.”

“Oh, so I’m yours to protect but that protection comes with a price.”

“Naturally,”

“Prat,” she muttered under her breath.

“Occasionally,” he tipped his head.

Hermione almost choked on her own breath, her eyes widening. Did he just agree that he was an arsehole? What was the world coming to?

Taking a breath and gritting her teeth, Hermione said, “What do you want from me, Riddle, in order to make us even?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped. “I want to know your biggest secret.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know exactly what I said.”

Hermione paused, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Well, she could do this.

Throwing the covers off herself, she shuffled to the edge of the bed and planted her bare feet on the cool stone floor, leaning forward until they were at eye level with barely any space between them.

“My biggest secret, Riddle...” She whispered, seeing his eyes dart down to her mouth when her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

She heard the slightest hitch in his breath and leaned forward a little more, their noses almost touching. The room was silent and tense, Hermione feeling his magic pouring from him and surrounding her like a thick, heavy blanket.

“I don’t need glasses.”

She sat back, folding her arms over her chest and a smirk forming on her mouth when Riddle blinked slowly, once, twice, before leaning back into his chair and scowling at her. A laugh left her.

“Weren’t expecting that, were you?” She asked lightly. “You’ve done it, Riddle. You’ve found out my _deepest_ , _darkest_ secret, now you can leave me be. I don’t need glasses. I only wear them because people perceive me as being weak, nonthreatening and that is one hell of an advantage to have. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m starving and would really like to wash off the reminder of the evening from hell.”

She stood from the bed, grabbed her glasses from the bedside table and slipped them on –overdramatically winking at Riddle as he watched her- picked up her wand and collected her shoes from the ground, letting them dangle from her fingers by the straps. She breezed past him, heading for the door but she paused with her hand on the handle.

“If you leave now, those in the common room will see and assume the worst. Rumours will spread.”

“Oh, you’d be a gentleman and tell them otherwise?”

“On the contrary, I believe it will beneficial to me,” he replied.

“Disillusionment Charm, Riddle. Read up on it!” She snapped, stepping out of his dorm and slamming the door shut behind her, his laughter being heard behind the door.

Huffing, she silently fumed until she noticed Malfoy and Nott stood on the staircase, as if they were guarding Riddle’s dorm. They probably were.

“What!” She snapped moodily. They looked to each other then back to her, their expressions passive but mouths twitching. “Oh shove off before I shove you down the stairs!”

She raised her wand and muttered the Disillusionment Charm, blending into her surroundings and descending the stairs barefooted, glaring over her shoulder when she heard their snorts.

“They’re perfect for one another,” Nott muttered. “Ow!” He yelped, rubbing at his left arse-cheek, Malfoy sniggering.

“Is there any reason you’re making so much noise?” Riddle drawled, standing in the now open doorway of his dorm.

“The witch hexed me!” Nott protested.

Riddle looked to a sniggering Malfoy and then as if knowing where she was despite her magical camouflage, he looked straight at her, his eyebrow cocking and his mouth twitching.

“You hexed him?” He questioned.

She aimed her wand over her shoulder.

“Ow!” Malfoy suddenly cried out, also rubbing at his left arse-cheek, his sniggers dying into winces.

“Malfoy too,” she confirmed. “They were being prats.”

She pointed her wand once more, directing a hex at Riddle but he deflected it was a lazy flick of his wand.

“I am not so vulnerable,” he replied amused.

“We’ll see, battle lines have been drawn, Riddle.”

“I look forward to it,” he tipped his head, a smile on his lips and his ice-blue eyes flashed. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 22

**Hogwarts - Sunday 29th October 1944**

She paced back and forth the length of her common area, the fireplace roaring with flames and providing heat in the cold afternoon. Athena perched on the back of the couch, her head tilted as she watched Hermione's movements.

When Hermione had returned to her rooms, the first thing she'd done was strip from her clothing and stand in the shower, scrubbing her skin until it was red raw and she'd made herself bleed. When her fingers were so pruned they were sore, she stepped out from the water, cast a Drying Charm and dug through her clothing, dressing in an old Quidditch jersey of Harry's and an old pair of pyjama bottoms that had belonged to Ron, rolling the waistband and legs up several times as they were too big for her.

Despite all the dangerous situations they found themselves in, she'd always felt safe when they were nearby and that was a feeling she really needed. She'd tried to cry but found she couldn't. She tried to feel objectified and used, but couldn't do that either. All she felt was anger. How could they do that to her? No one deserved such treatment but what had she actually done for such an action to be warranted? Why had they targeted her? Why had they targeted the others?

Hermione was a strong believer of justice and when justice wasn't served, she took it upon herself to rectify that. Her magic swarmed her body, little lightning bolts sparking from her hair and falling to the ground, her skin charged with electricity, the room growing thick and heavy as her magic broke free.

She was furious!

A squawk pulled her attention and her eyes snapped to Athena, seeing her eyeing her warily, flapping her wings as though she weren't sure if she should stay or take off. Hermione fisted her hands tightly and took a breath before collapsing onto the couch, Athena moving closer and nuzzling her head against Hermione's cheek. Hermione released a tired sigh and brought her hand up, rubbing her fingers against the soft feathers at Athena's throat.

"I'm sorry," Hermione muttered, tilting her head and resting it against the back of the couch and Athena made herself comfortable, perching in such a way she was half-sprawled across the top of Hermione's head.

Silently and with a wave of her hand, Hermione summoned a blanket and cocooned herself in it, so tight she could barely move. Her eyes darted from staring at the flames in the fireplace and down to the soft wool covering her, seeing the odd pattern of orange, green and plum twined together. In all honesty, it was hideous but that didn't matter to her. It represented something of great importance, something that she'd always assumed she'd have. Harry and Ron.

Plum was her favourite colour, orange was Ron's and despite never admitting it out loud, Harry's had always been green. During the war and the time of their being fugitives, when Harry and Ron were at each other's throats and she didn't have the energy to play the mediator (quickly learning to stay out of it as otherwise, they'd turn their ire on her) she'd hideaway in her bunk and turn her attention to knitting. She was far from a professional despite all the practice she'd gotten when knitting hats and scarves during her free-the-house-elves reign of terror when she was fifteen, as seen by some of the holes in the blanket being bigger than others or the way she'd messed up and knotted the wool once or twice. During the time, it'd served as a distraction, something to keep her hands busy and her mind away from the horrors that were happening outside of the tent.

She'd charmed the wool to those three colours specifically, entwining them in such a way the colours both clashed and slotted together in a hideous mess but the longer one stared, the more the colours seemed to complement each other. Three things that shouldn't have worked but did, something she could relate to.

She was often considered to be too smart to be friends with Harry and Ron, she was the calm and the brains. The glue that held them together. Harry was their leader, the rash and jump-head-first-into-danger type. Ron was hot-headed, the emotional one and the muscle. Separately they were useless, lost. Together they were the famed Golden Trio, a band of friends who stuck together through thick and thin. They would've followed each other anywhere and they did, straight to war, straight to death.

Looking at the blanket, Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes. Had she ever felt truly safe since her arrival in the past? No, without Harry and Ron, she didn't suppose she ever would. She needed them as much as they needed her, but unless she found a way to complete her mission to prevent Riddle from becoming Voldemort, there would never be a Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, not her Harry and Ron anyway. She hadn't agreed to take the mission because it was the right thing to do, because it would save countless lives, she'd done it solely for Harry and Ron. The two most important people in her life.

"Hermione?"

She startled, her wand appearing in her hand and aiming towards the voice before she released a slow breath and allowed the wand to drop onto the couch beside her. She shifted from beneath Athena and rose from the couch, quickly closing the distance between her and her father, _feeling_ his concern both in his magic and body when she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest, sniffling.

"What happened?" He questioned softly. "I felt your emotional distress."

"You don't know? You didn't see?" She replied quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don't watch you _all_ the time, Little Phoenix. I spent all of the previous evening watching over Godric and Salazar. They had a God-awful spat which resulted in a duel, in the afterlife we do not tire, as far as I'm aware, they are _still_ duelling now." Hermione released a sniffle-laugh at the disapproval in his tone. "I suppose they were due a disagreement of this magnitude, they have not had one for many years. But it seems the one time my attention is elsewhere, is the time you need me the most."

"It's not your fault. It's mine," she whispered.

"What happened? I am quite capable of seeing for myself but I would much rather hear it from you."

Hermione stiffened in his arms.

"You are safe with me."

"I know," she sniffled. He had the same effect on her as Harry and Ron. She felt safe in his presence; he was the one person she knew would _never_ harm her. Whilst she felt safe with Harry and Ron, they'd both hurt her in the past. Ron with his words and Harry his ignorance. But her father would never harm her and whilst she wanted his calming presence, she had to do this by herself. "Last night at the Halloween Ball, I was slipped a Lust Potion." She both felt his arms tighten around her and his magical aura grow thick and heavy. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before, Riddle only wished he could be as powerful as her father. "Alec Carrow, Slytherin, and my escort for the ball, Michael Macmillan, Hufflepuff. I accepted his invitation because I thought he was _safe_. I was wrong. He fooled me _and_ Riddle, quite the feat. I don't remember much but Riddle explained that he'd found me being taken advantage of in the dungeons, thankfully he arrived before they took me elsewhere and things could've gotten worse. He took me to his dorm room and I woke in his bed. He told me he protected me and that Macmillan and Carrow are being taken care of, I knew what he truly meant. We had a little bit of spat about who should be the one to dole out the punishment. I'm not the first victim but I _will_ be the last and I was the only one they were caught with."

"You intend to seek vengeance," he stated knowingly, something in his voice being darker than usual. She didn't answer and she didn't lift her face, not wanting to see his reaction. "There is no good or dark magic," he reminded her.

"The Unforgivables," she muttered.

He tipped his head slightly but she didn't see. "It is well within your rights to seek vengeance. Wizarding laws differ from that of the ones in the Muggle World, especially those from my time and the time of the Founders. You do not know Helga the way I do, and whilst she is kind, that makes it all the more frightening when she is angry. If she were here now, I know she would demand that you seek justice regardless of one of them being a member of her beloved House. I believe that fact will anger her all the more, that someone of her House and morals wished to harm _my_ daughter, as well as harmed others. I never told you this but you have Godparents."

"I do? Who?" She asked quietly.

"The Founders."

"I'm sorry," she spluttered, finally pulling her face from his chest and looking up at him.

"Helga and Rowena are your Godmothers, Salazar and Godric are your Godfathers. They watched you grow just as I did, they are very much invested in your safety and your future. When Dumbledore arrived in our circle, Helga unleashed a tirade I have never before heard from her. It was so frightening, I remember Salazar cowering behind Godric," he said, his mouth twitching and Hermione sniggered. "Do you want to seek justice?"

"Yes," Hermione said quietly. "I'm struggling with what it right and what is wrong. It's the right thing to do to tell someone, to stop this from happening again. They'll likely be excluded from Hogwarts, if I'm believed, that is. They are both Purebloods, I'm a Half-blood, their lawyers will tear me apart regardless of who is telling the truth and knowing this, I know it will be easier to punish them myself. But there is a difference between what is right and what is easy."

"There is," he nodded in agreement. "Do you want my opinion?"

"Yes, please,"

"Sometimes what is right, isn't always what is right. In this case, I say choose what is easy."

Hermione's gaze lowered.

"I'm not upset or broken and I don't feel violated. I'm _angry_. Not just for me but the other witches they've done this to. Should I punish them I am worried that I will _kill_ them."

"You are capable of many things, Little Phoenix, but murder is not one."

"I've killed before," she argued.

"Yes, in battle. Not in cold blood. Trust your instincts and trust your magic, it will not lead you astray. It is your guide. As for your method of punishment, I think it about time I taught something new. Come, let's sit by the fire."

Hermione didn't argue when he stepped back from her, took her hand in his and moved over to the fireplace, taking a seat on the ground in front of the hot flames. Hermione took a set opposite, folding her legs beneath her and observing her father as he interacted with Athena who'd flown over and perched on his shoulder.

"Now, this particular spell, I learned from Morgana."

~000~000~000~

Hermione paced back and forth three times with only one thought in mind before a large door appeared before her. She dug her hand into her robe pocket, grasping her wand in its depths and feeling a sense of comfort wash over her. Taking a steady breath and squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and reached out to grasp the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open. She slid inside before shutting the door behind her, it quickly disappearing from view with no evident point of exit but her attention was elsewhere.

She stood in Riddle's Chamber of Secrets-esque room, fitted with the 'table for his knights' and a throne. Riddle perched on it, lounging in a way that was both regal but casual, whilst he watched his merry band of henchmen. Avery, Nott, Rosier, Lestrange, Malfoy and Dolohov stood in the centre of the room in a circle formation with gaps evenly spaced between them. All of them wore their clothing from the ball the night before but in various forms dress, all of them having lost their robes, some having loosened the buttons on their shirts, some having rolled up their sleeves and some having untucked their shirts. They each held their wands tightly, their attention held by the two crumpled forms in the centre of their circle, ear-shattering cries and screams being torn from their throats as their bodies writhed and twisted unnaturally on the ground, being soaked in sweat and urine. From what she could see, there were no visible injuries. That was good; there was no proof of what had happened and there would be no evidence left behind through open wounds and other injuries.

Hermione, having suffered under the same curse, found herself flinching and a small amount of pity surfaced before she forced it down, reminding herself they'd had every intention of raping her had they not been stopped. Even Riddle, the destroyed of her world had not been a rapist.

How long had they been suffering? Giving the wizards still being in their dress clothes and the fact they looked as though they hadn't slept, she'd say all night _and_ all day. Dinner had not long been served but Hermione hadn't been able to stomach the thought of food despite not having anything to eat since the night before at the ball.

Malfoy was the first to notice her presence, not actively parting in the session but watching and his eyes turned to her, widening in alarm and horror before they darted to Riddle.

"My Lord?" He addressed, pulling Riddle's attention.

Riddle's expression didn't falter. It was a wonder how something could look so bored but entertained at the same time. Riddle didn't have that problem.

The screams from Carrow and Macmillan died down into sobs, the rest of his junior Death Eaters turning their eyes to her, their expressions matching Malfoy's. Riddle didn't look all that concerned about her presence or that she was witnessing their casting of highly illegal magics.

"Nilrem? What are you doing here?" Riddle arched an eyebrow.

"Don't act dense, we both know you're not despite appearances."

"You flatter me," he deadpanned after her backhanded compliment.

"Surely, you expected my arrival after what we discussed."

"I may have," he admitted, "And how did you know to come _here_?"

"Please, I'm not an idiot," she scoffed. "This is the only place in the entire castle where you are guaranteed to not be caught approving the use of a highly illegal form of magic, and with good reason. There are very few who know of this room's existence, and, I may have _seen_ you come here," she added innocently.

His mouth twitched at her apparent confirmation of her 'gift' and he an arched eyebrow but commented no further on the matter. Hermione saw the six wizards' gazes dart between them, Hermione wondering if Riddle had explained her _powers_ to them and her worth or if he deigned to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

"And what is it you plan to do, now that you're here?"

"I thought that was obvious," she replied, striding forward with purpose, easily slipping through the gap between Avery and Rosier and coming to a stop at the feet of Carrow and Macmillan.

She tutted disapprovingly.

"Care to share your thoughts, Nilrem?" Riddle voiced.

"I had thought someone of your intelligence would know better. You must take exceptionally good care of your toys."

"Oh?" His voice hinted at intrigue and she turned towards him when he stood from his throne and descended the steps, slipping his hands casually into his trouser pockets and halting in-between Malfoy and Lestrange, the latter shifting slightly on his feet.

"Yes, if you wish to not get caught, then I suggest you avoid torturing someone to insanity. Hydration is key, in such cases," she scolded, turning to face forward and stepping in-between the two crumpled, sobbing messes on the ground.

She knelt between them, wrinkling her nose at the smell of sweat and urine and her eyes doing a quick search. From her place by the non-existent door, she hadn't seen the dried blood coating their mouths and chins. They'd bitten their tongues at some point and they both looked to have broken noses, too. Easy fixes.

"Honestly," she t'sked. "You must learn some manners. Have you thought of the impact the smell might have on others?" She said, twisting to look over her shoulder, seeing Riddle's pleased smile and his flashing eyes, and the dumbfounded expressions of his followers.

Turning her attention back to her would-be rapists, she pulled her wand and was quick to mutter a _Scourgify_ , removing the dried blood from their skin and the smell of sweat and urine. One she was happy the smell had vanished, she conjured a glass and filled it with water, moving closer to Carrow.

She slipped her hand behind the back of his neck and lifted it before bringing the glass of water to his lips, slowly allowing it to trickle into his mouth lest she drowns him, something she had to fight hard not to do. He didn't open his eyes but kept them screwed shut tightly, releasing a weak cough when she pulled the glass back and lowered his head. She turned to Macmillan, being more than aware of the eyes watching her as she did so. She slipped her hand beneath him and supported his head, bringing the glass to his lips. His eyes opened slowly, showing no recognition as she fed him the water.

When done, the glass vanished from her hand silently and she lowered his head to the ground, using that hand to softly brush his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. His gaze slowly refocused and she felt him twitch, not having the energy to move away from her.

She smiled down at him softly and titled her head, her eyes large and open.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," she cooed. "It had not been my intention that Riddle would take your attack against me personally, that he would punish you on my behalf. Had he listened to me, you would only be suffering _one_ punishment, not _two_." His eyes widened in horror. "That's right, Michael. I remember what happened, what you said about my father being a powerful wizard that pissed off Grindelwald and got himself and my mother killed, leaving me an orphan. Surely you must have realised that he would ensure his only child, his _daughter_ , would be well equipped and versatile in _all_ forms of magic. Unfortunately for you, you targeted the wrong witch, one, who has no qualms about seeking justice. Had I been the only one, I might have been merciful, but I'm not, am I? How many?" She directed her question to him but he didn't answer, whether it was out of fear or his inability to do so, she wasn't entirely certain.

"Twenty-three," Lestrange answered when no one else did.

"Twenty-three? How long?"

"This is their second year," he replied.

"Hmmm," she hummed softly. "Michael, you've been a very busy boy, haven't you?" She trailed her finger down his cheek gently before tapping the tip of his nose, as if scolding an animal. He groaned in pain and Hermione smiled. "Twenty-three witches in just over a year. Tell me, what motivated you to do this? Is it that you're just a twisted fucker or is there something deeper to all of this, are you impotent? Is that it? You can't get it up unless the witch is vulnerable, unable to fight back, or is it that you're such a shitty lay you don't want the witch to remember any of it?"

A surprised snort of laughter sounded from behind her but she kept her attention on Macmillan, his eyes widening further the more she spoke.

"Why did he target _me_?"

"From what we've been able to gather, he thought you weak, that you would be unable to physically and magically defend yourself," Malfoy answered, his gaze darting between her and Riddle.

"A big mistake," Hermione promised. "Don't worry, Michael, you won't receive the full brunt of my punishment, Carrow will feel my displeasure just as much as you. I believe everyone should be treated equally, and it wouldn't be fair should I only give you my attention. From what I remember, you _both_ wanted it last night and you what do you know, you both getting what you wanted. I imagine you wish for this to be over, that I should just kill you but I don't work that way. Killing is pointless. It's messy and a bit of a pain in the arse, to be honest. If I kill you, you escape punishment, justice, and that is something I can't have. But I promise, Michael, you'll be in bed before you know it."

He released a strangled noise that caught in the back of his throat and she smiled down at him, brushing the hair back from his face once more.

"But I must thank you, Michael. Never before have I been told I snog like the devil, and I must confess, that was something of an unexpected confidence boost. Now, I think I've dragged this out long enough, don't you? I'll be gentle, I promise," she finished in a whisper, her mouth by his ear, her breath ghosting over his skin and he shuddered in horror.

Hermione's mouth tugged into a smile and she pressed a soft kiss to his temple before she rose to her feet, slowly backing up with her eyes locked on him. Silently, she slipped her robes from her shoulders, allowing them to fall down her arms before she neatly folded it across her arm and then retrieved her wand from her robe pocket. With her wand in hand, she held her robes out to the left, turning her eyes to Nott.

"Thoros? Yes? Be a dear and hold these for me, would you?"

It wasn't a request and he knew it, silently stepping forward and taking them from her grasp, falling back into his previous spot, his expression one of horror, surprise and intrigue.

"Thank you," she smiled softly. He shuddered. "Now, what to do? What to do?" She muttered to herself, slowly circling the two wizards on the ground, twirling her wand lazily between her fingers in a show of dexterity.

"Hmmm, I suppose I could..." She paused in her steps, aiming her wand at Carrow. "No, not nearly harrowing enough," she shook her head, continuing in her steps. "How about..." she paused, pointing her wand at Macmillan, before pacing once more. "Nope, too messy," she shook her head. "I could always..." she paused, crouching down by their heads, Hermione running the tip of her wand across Carrow's throat and reaching out with her other hand, brushing it through Macmillan's hair. They both shuddered and Hermione smiled. "I confess, I'm enjoying this very much. It's been a long time since I've righted a wrong."

She rose to her feet and circled them once more before halting, tilting her head this way and that before lifting her eyes, seeing those around her watching her intently, their expressions varying from intrigue, surprise, horror and annoyance.

"Patience, Dolohov," Hermione chastised, the wizard bristling at her tone.

Hermione hummed before releasing a sigh. "I know, I don't look nearly frightening enough, do I? I look too weak and nonthreatening, don't I? Well, that's an easy fix."

She reached up and removed her glasses, an eerie silence settling in the room as she saw their eyes widen comically. Without her glasses, she looked like a completely different person, and now, she looked terrifying in the way she smiled softly and titled her head innocently but there was something that was terrifying about her. She never understood how no one could see that Clark Kent was Superman when all that separated them was a pair of glasses but since using the same disguise to mask her own personality, she wondered if glasses had originally been Wizarding made.

"That's better," she sighed. Seeing their stares, her mouth tugged into a smirk and they each took the smallest step back, Hermione deliberately keeping her eyes from Riddle and his penetrating gaze, she could already feel his magic beginning to lightly fill the room, so light it was almost unnoticeable. "Oh, has he not told you? Riddle discovered my biggest secret, I don't require glasses," she said innocently before she turned her eyes to the right, seeing Rosier. "Evan, isn't it? You mind if I call you that? Will you hold these for me?" He stepped forward and took them from her before returning to his spot, his gaze never leaving her. "Thank you and please be careful not to break them. Whilst they can be easily repaired, it's not nice to break things that don't belong to you, and as it is, I require those to keep up appearances in the castle."

She turned her eyes back to the two wizards on the ground and then folded her arms over her chest, her wand draping from her fingers and she tapped it against her thigh, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"I know the perfect punishment. Given the amount of Crucio's that have been cast recently, I think it best to avoid such magic lest they go into organ failure or they have a heart attack. No, what I have in mind much more suitable."

She unfolded her arms and with no longer having pockets, she reached up and slotted her wand into her bun of wild curls, freeing her hands.

"Much better," she muttered before she stepped forward and crouched in-between Carrow and Macmillan by their heads and Hermione reached out, settling her hands palm down against their foreheads.

Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and focused, allowing her magic to fill every part of her being until her fingertips tingled. She heard the sound of feet shuffling against the ground but blocked them out, picturing her intentions clearly in her mind.

"Is that him?" Avery muttered, leaning towards Malfoy.

Malfoy darted his eyes to Riddle, seeing the dark expression of intrigue, approval and something that was frightening on him. Hunger.

"No, it's _her_ ," he mumbled knowingly.

"Shit," Avery muttered.

The aura in the room, it was darker, thicker, heavier than they'd ever felt Riddle's being, but there was something decidedly feminine about it.

" _Daemonium_ ," Hermione hissed suddenly before she rose to full height, her hands remaining palms down and hovering over Carrow and Macmillan's heads.

At first, nothing happened, Carrow and Macmillan remained still and the room echoed with silence and then without warning, her eyes opening, her expression dark and frightening and she twisted her hands into tight fists. Blood-curdling screams reverberated in the large stone room, their bodies arched off the ground and their hands came up to their heads, twisting and pulling at their hair.

She didn't seem bothered, a calm, serene expression on her face.

The longer she held the curse, the more they thrashed and they moved from pulling at their hair to clawing at their own faces and arms desperately. Hermione merely smiled.

It was a long while later when they could no longer scream and they were no longer clawing at themselves, their bodies still except for the shudders that passed through them and seeing this, Hermione slowly uncurled her fists and lowered her arms by her sides, their bodies stilling and sagging against the hard ground.

"That was highly satisfying," she commented, breaking the silence and ignoring their stares of horror and surprise. She was sure they weren't actually horrified by what they'd witnessed given who they chose to follow, rather that it was _her_ of all people that had been capable of such an act, one they weren't even certain of the results. "Thoros, close your mouth, you'll catch flies," she instructed, the wizard snapping his mouth shut but not taking his gaze from her. "Well, I believe they have had enough. We keep them any longer and they are sure to be missed and that is something we don't want."

Hermione raised her hand and plucked her wand from her hair, moving to crouch in-between their still trembling bodies, them looking as though they'd passed out. Good. She was quick but efficient with her healing of them, fixing their noses, tending to their swollen tongues and sealing the cuts on their faces and arms until there was no evidence of harm or injury. She did a quick check on their vital signs, seeing no damage to their organs but their heartbeat did seem a little elevated, something that would fix itself. To put the icing on the cake, she altered their memories, something she was highly proficient at. After ensuring they remembered nothing of what occurred recently, including their plan to assault her and their time being tortured to near insanity, she instilled within them new ones of them heavily drinking.

She was quite careful to no remove their fear of her; that was something she wanted to remain. Every time they passed her in the halls or heard her name, fear would spike through them but they wouldn't know why, and she'd done the same with their plans to harm witches, when the thought crossed their minds, they'd be filled with terror, fear-crippling terror. She'd briefly considered taking away their inability to ever procreate but otherwise decided against it. They were both Purebloods and the only heirs to their Houses, it wouldn't be right for her to wipe out two generations of magic when their numbers were already so few against the muggles.

"Well, all of our bases have been covered," Hermione mused, rising to full height. "Thoros, Evan, escort them both outside please, just dump them in the corridor."

They glanced between her and Riddle and when he tipped his head in confirmation, they both stepped forward.

"Thank you," she smiled, accepting her glasses and slipping them back into place and then taking her robes from Nott and slipping them on, placing her wand back in her pocket.

She watched as they each levitated one of the wizards out of the room and into the corridor, directing them with their wands and none too gently depositing them on the ground. Hermione followed after them.

"Hideaway, boys," she instructed softly. They shared a glance before stepping back into the room, not closing the door behind them. "Tiggy," Hermione called.

"What can Tiggy do for Missy Hermione," the little elf squeaked, her hands twisted in her pillowcase.

Hermione smiled down at the young elf, her eyes large and dark, her bat-like ears covered with white hair and her skin a grey-green. She had few wrinkles due to her young age and she barely reached Hermione's knees in height.

"Tiggy, I was taking a walk through the castle, exploring my new surroundings, when I happened across these two wizards."

Tiggy's eyes darted towards Hermione's hand, seeing to who she was gesturing towards and a gasp fell from her lips before she rushed forward.

"What happened, Missy Hermione?"

"I'm not entirely sure, I know the punch was spiked last night at the ball, perhaps they had too much to drink or they had their own supply of contraband."

"Tiggy get them to bed and tell Professor Dumbledores."

"Thank you, Tiggy," Hermione smiled.

The moment the little elf popped out of existence with the two wizards, Hermione spun on her heel and entered the room once more, closing the door behind her, stepping into a silent room with all eyes on her.

"Well, that went rather smoothly," she commented lightly.

"They will test their blood alcohol levels," Malfoy informed her, not bothering to pretend as though they hadn't been listening in to her conversation.

She tipped her head and smiled. "I know, that was why I made sure to interfere with their red blood cell count. Not enough to cause worry but enough for them to assume they have been drinking, and I was also careful with altering their memories, replacing them with a night _and_ day of heavy drinking, accounting for them not being seen since the Ball. Whilst I'm sure they won't be expelled, they are highly likely to be issued with detention."

"What did you do to them?" Avery muttered, eyeing her warily.

"Oh, that, just a little something my father taught me," she smiled, commenting no further on the matter. "And now that they've been taken care of, I have one more piece of unfinished business."

Not giving them the chance to voice their questions, she flicked her wrist and Dolohov suddenly cried out with a loud, " _Blyad_!" Rubbing at his stinging arse-cheek, he glared at her murderously and gripped his wand tighter.

"Don't do it, we both know what happened when we last duelled," she rolled her eyes. "You more than deserved that."

"Why?" He gritted his teeth.

"You're partially to blame for what happened last night. I am more than capable of detecting both Love and Lust Potions by both scent and taste. When you spiked the punch, you used the _only_ thing that covered both the smell and taste that would have aided me in identifying it, meaning I wouldn't have drank the entire thing and I would've known what was happening and made myself scarce. Why would you use fire whiskey? Of all things? Why not mead, or wine, ale, or regular whiskey? You're Russian for Merlin's Sake, you could've used vodka! Not only does it have twice the alcohol content, it's cheaper _and_ it doesn't singe your taste buds in the process!" She scolded. "Next time you do something so stupid, and you really ought to be more inconspicuous, I'll give you far worse than a Stinging Hex," she warned.

His glare didn't lose any of its heat which he only moved towards his fellow wizards when they sniggered at his dressing down.

"You're awfully quiet," Hermione observed, tipping her head to the side thoughtfully, looking to Riddle.

"Leave us," he ordered. "Now!" He snapped impatiently when the six wizards took longer than a second to process the order, and they soon fled from the room, stealing glances over their shoulders until the door closed behind them, once more disappearing from view.

Hermione felt her breath hitch and heartbeat quicken and she tugged her robes around herself a little tighter, gripping her wand in her hand. Riddle's gaze was dark and hungry and terrifying, but there was something about it that sent a sudden and wholly unexpected zing down her spine and straight to her toes. She hadn't felt something like that since...

 _Oh shit,_ Hermione thought, part of her feeling horrified and the other not so much.

She told herself it was the aura of his magic, currently swirling the room and wrapping around her like a blanket, in a manner similar to her father. It was heady and heavy, addling her brain and thoughts. It might as well have been a Love Potion. If she could bottle the feeling she'd make a fortune and there'd be no need for Love Potions anymore.

He approached her slowly, predatorily, his hands still in his pockets but his gaze solely focused on her and Hermione unconsciously stepped backwards, right into the wall. Riddle's mouth pulled into a smirk and her eyes widened in alarm when he stopped before her with his towering height, barely any space between them. _Damn him, why did he have to be so tall?_ Her face stared right at his chest, refusing to lift her gaze to his.

He released a deep chuckled and she clenched her jaw, both in annoyance and at the way a shiver raced through her. Since when did he elicit such responses from her? The one time at Flourish and Blotts didn't count, it was the first time he'd gotten deliberately close to her but now, this was something different and she knew it.

"Look at me, _Hermione_."

Hearing her given name from him was a shock to her system, especially as he'd all but caressed the sound as he spoke it. She unwittingly tilted her head back, his ice-blue eyes had darkened to a sea-blue, his expression was open, filled with emotion, something that was rare to see.

And as she stared up at him, something smacked her right in the face, an unwelcome realisation. She wasn't afraid of him, she never had been but standing with him right now, she _knew_ he wouldn't harm her. Sexually or otherwise.

When she'd woken in his bed earlier that day and she'd caught sight of him, something had fluttered within her that she hadn't been able to identify until that very moment. She didn't want to voice, to think it, to admit it, but she had to. Upon waking, upon learning what'd happened, that she'd been vulnerable and he'd _protected_ her when he definitely didn't have to or when he could've easily taken advantage, she'd felt _safe_ with him. Safer than she had in a long time. And that scared her, terrified her.

"Can I help you, Riddle?" Hermione cleared her throat and pushed all of her emotions deep down, gathering her wits.

"In more ways than one," he replied.

She scowled at him and folded her arms against her chest, him being so close they pressed against his chest, too.

"What was that curse?"

She eyed him warily. "Why?"

"It was similar to the Cruciatus but the incantation was different. I can't recall coming across it."

"I doubt you will, it's only mentioned in two books, one of which is illegal and the other there's fewer than five copies left in existence."

"Is that so? _Where_ did you learn it?"

"My father,"

"And why is your father teaching you dark magic?"

"There is no such thing as light and dark magic, it's all based on intent. There is only power and those too weak to seek it."

A startled noise sounded from her when she was pushed back into the wall, hands had settled on her waist and Riddle leaned in closer, his head lowering and his nose brushing the length of her neck.

How hadn't she noticed how good he smelled? It was dark, citrusy, woodsy, mixed with an expensive cologne he probably hadn't purchased for himself. He smelled powerful. Did power even have a smell? It was dizzying, intoxicating being so close to him, especially when his magic surrounded her like that.

"It's like you're reading my mind," he muttered softly. Hermione clenched her hands tightly, her arms still being folded over her chest. "The curse, what does it do?"

"As far as I'm aware, it's not technically outlawed but neither is it encouraged. You are correct in saying it's similar to the Cruciatus, both cause unimaginable pain and both don't cause physical injury. However, the curse I used, whilst psychological, doesn't cause pain in the way you might assume. I would explain it as being a combination of both a dementor and a boggart."

"Meaning?"

"Dementors are known for feeding on positive energy, sending the sanest of people to insanity and boggarts are creatures known for their ability to use their target's greatest fear against them. The curse works in a similar manner. I forced Carrow and Macmillan to face their greatest fears on a loop, it only ending when I allow it. The longer the curse is in effect, the worse it is. You see, people forget pain, they don't forget humiliation or traumatizing events, like the one I just forced. The incantation literally translates to Demon. As in, facing one's own demons."

His grip on her waist tightened, her heartbeat sped up, something she knew he'd feel if he kept running his nose over her neck. She refused to tilt her head, giving him better access.

"Teach me it," he spoke softly. It wasn't a request, it was an order.

"No,"

"No?" He muttered.

"No," she repeated. "I was sworn to never give up the magics my father taught me, not unless I could trust them."

"And you don't trust me?"

"Only as far as I could throw you and considering I struggle to open a bloody jam jar without help, that isn't saying much." His grip tightened a little more, not enough to bruise or injure but certainly enough to notice, and then his lips brushed her skin. "Stop," she commanded.

He completely took her by surprise when he did, his hands dropping from her waist and he took a step back, putting a little distance between them.

Seeing her surprised expression, he said, "I like my women willing."

She frowned before giving her head a shake.

"I won't teach you the curse, but," she added, seeing him arch his eyebrow, "I feel it only fair I teach you _something_. Despite it going against my wishes, and as you saw, I'm quite capable of handling myself, you _did_ enact revenge on my behalf. So," she stepped away from him and moved closer to the centre of the room, Riddle watching her movements and slotting his hands into his pockets once more. "Wand out." His mouth twitched and his eyebrow arched. "Oh, for Merlin's Sake, grow up!" She snapped.

He rolled his eyes but his wand appeared in his hand and he approached her, looking to her for instruction.

"The incantation is _Praesidio_ , and the wand movements are fairly simple," she explained, seeing Riddle's eyes trained on her wand the moment she raised it. She deliberately slowed her movements so he could see the deep arch, swish, flick and twist of the wrist.

"That is simple?"

"For us, yes, others are most likely to struggle," she replied.

His mouth twitched into a smirk but he echoed her movements, perfecting it on the third attempt. Much could be said about Riddle but no one could deny he was a brilliant wizard.

"What is the purpose?" He questioned, feeling the magic surround him but not _seeing_ any results.

Hermione smiled before muttering, " _Sanguinem Maledicta_ ," a burst of neon red light soaring towards Riddle only to be absorbed by a bubble-like shield that shimmered blue upon impact. That same neon light made a reappearance, passing through the shield behind him and smacking into the wall.

He lowered his wand and narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Did you just throw a Blood Curse at me?" He questioned, partially impressed and partially surprised that she'd dared to do such a thing.

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes. " _Praesidio_ is a shield, one that will and can withstand the majority of classified level three through to five 'dark' curses. Exceptionally handy, you're welcome."

She turned on heel and made to leave, she felt it before she saw it and she was quick to throw a shield over her shoulder, twisting to see the pale orange light rebounding into a stone column. Riddle looked to her innocently. Hermione narrowed her eyes. If he wanted a duel, she'd give him one.

She hadn't had a good one in a long while, the last one being their duel in DADA which Dumbledore had interrupted. Not only would they never be caught given their location, but Hermione still had some pent up anger in her from the happenings of last night. She was determined to prove to Riddle that she could and would win in a duel against him and that anger would help her.

~000~000~000~

She'd long since discarded her robes, them being tossed in a mess on the ground. She'd long since lost her glasses, them being broken and cracked on the ground. Her hair had long since fallen from its restraint, falling down her back and over her shoulders in a wild, bushy mess that only seemed to grow bigger the more her annoyance grew.

Her heart beat quickly in her chest, her breathing was laboured and sweat was forming on her brow, a cut dribbled blood down her cheek, a burn stung against her shin and her back ached from hitting the ground a little too hard. Riddle appeared to be a little better, his usually perfect hair messier than she'd ever seen it, his clothing rumpled and a cut to his forearm, it dripping blood on the floor. She took great pride in the fact she'd managed to jab him with a Stinging Hex right to his arse, too. She'd found it hilarious, Riddle hadn't agreed.

The table was now a pile of rubble, the chairs were dotted about the room, some being destroyed and other's singed and burnt. Two of the stone columns had been reduced to rubble, thankfully they weren't there for structural support or the ceiling might've caved in on them and they'd both be dead.

She wasn't exactly certain how long had passed, she'd stop trying to gauge the time when Riddle had hit her with a Slicing Hex, but she knew they'd been duelling for more than an hour, at least. In all honesty, she was getting tired but she refused to back down, she refused to let him win and she refused to show her exhaustion lest she gives him the upper hand. So far they'd been evenly matched and it had taken a long while for one of them to land the first hit. She knew Riddle was both impressed and annoyed, feeling it in his magic as it filled the room but she wasn't backing down, pushing back with her own magical aura until it slammed into him.

They circled one another, eyeing each other carefully, looking for any tell the other was about to strike. Without either of them noticing, the space between them was growing smaller the longer they continued the standoff, and getting bored, Hermione lobbed a Dismembering Curse at Riddle, not being surprised when he blocked it with a _Praesidio_. Damn, she never should have taught him, and he knew she was thinking it, his smirk spoke for him.

"You're a giant pain in the arse," Hermione snapped, throwing a _Reducto_ his way. "Don't you dare say it," she glared, following it with Genital Hex for good measure. He blocked it easily.

"It's not my fault, you presented the opportunity, it would've been rude had I not taken it," he replied innocently.

"Take this you bloody prat!" She lobbed a ball of fire his way and when he was distracted extinguishing it, his previous shield not be equipped to defend against it properly, she pointed her wand to the ground, muttering, " _Glacius_!"

She smiled smugly when he unexpectedly lost his footing, and he struggled to remain upright. They were close enough that he lunged for her, grabbing her arm and taking her down to the ground with him as she let out a shriek of surprise.

They landed in such a way that Riddle took the brunt of the fall and Hermione sprawled across him. Not thinking of the implications, she shifted atop him until she straddled his stomach, one hand pressed against the floor by his head and she held the tip of her wand against his throat with the other hand.

"I win," she smiled smugly.

He smirked and his eyes darted down, Hermione frowned and followed his gaze, seeing he had his wand pressed against her side, the other hand lay lightly on her hip

"Shite!" She sighed in annoyance. "We tied again."

"If you want to get technical, I am the winner."

She scoffed. "Now this I've got to hear."

"I landed the most hits."

"Like hell you did," she glared down at him. "I admit that I have the most physical injuries, barely, but I hit you with a Stinging Hex, a Tripping Jinx, an Entrapment Ward and a Quick-Sand Hex, and that's off the top of my head."

His eyes narrowed but she wasn't backing down and she narrowed her eyes right back. His eyes suddenly moved from hers and lifted, locking on her hair.

"What?" She frowned.

"You are the only person I've seen that has a physical magical response," he answered, his wand lowering from her side and he reached up with his hand, tugging on one of her many curls, seeming amused at the spark of magic that zinged through it when it bounced back into place, frizzing up.

"It's always done it, I don't know why," she shrugged. "The first time it happened, I displayed my first signs of magic in shattering windows. Well, I was showing signs around the age of three and four with silly little things like levitating my stuffed animals or changing the colour of my clothes, but this was my first _big_ sign of magic. I was angry at my mother for forcing me to wear a hideous dress, taking my book from me and making me eat sprouts, something I've always hated. She wanted me to play with the neighbours' kids but they didn't like me, they thought me weird and would make fun of me, push me around. So, I'm not afraid to admit I had the biggest temper tantrum a five-year-old could have and I shattered every window on that floor. My mother was furious and sent me to my room, which is when I saw the mess that was my hair in the mirror. My father waited until my mother went to bed and then he snuck into my room, woke me up, gave me the biggest hug he could without hurting me and he took me for ice-cream the next day," she said, only some of it being a lie but most of it had been true.

"You should wear your hair down more often," he commented out of nowhere, tugging on a second curl, his lip twitching when it sprang back into place, right in her face and she huffed out a breath to blow it out of her face and she stared down at him in annoyance.

"Is that an order or an opinion?" She questioned.

"An order," he clarified.

"In that case, no. I don't take orders from you."

"Then it's my opinion,"

"In that case, still no. I don't care for your opinion," she replied. He rolled his eyes. "I wear it up for two reasons. One, it gets in the way when I leave it down and I don't want to risk it catching fire in potions, and two, not only will it make me stand out given the current hair trends of this decade, but it's easier to manage. The weight of my hair prevents me from looking like a frizzy-arse poodle."

He snorted. "I'm unsure if I prefer you with or without glasses," he mentioned offhandedly.

"Oh?"

"Hmmm, with them you look weak, vulnerable but it's easier to read you. Without them, you're powerful, noticeable."

"Thanks," she replied drily, "Just what I've always wanted to hear. You know, I think this is the longest conversation we've had without trying to main one another."

"A respite is needed,"

"Wear you out, did I?" Her mouth twitched.

"Far from it, I think you'll find I've very good stamina," he smirked.

"Like I haven't heard that before," she rolled her eyes. She pulled her wand away from his neck and pressed her fisted hand against the floor to get more comfortable, in doing so she suddenly realised their current positions.

She refused to blush; she hadn't blushed in years, not since she'd started a relationship with her favourite Beater. He'd pretty much shagged the pureness and shyness out of her and he'd had a great time doing it, too. She knew, he told her often and was never shy about his feelings or comments.

She darted her eyes down her body, noting that her pretty blue dress whilst modest and appropriate for the era, certainly wasn't helping matters right now. At least it covered everything it was supposed to from sight despite the only thing separating them from skin on skin contact being Riddle's jumper and her underwear.

She lifted her gaze, seeing that Riddle's ice-blue eyes had darkened slightly, his gaze very telling.

"Oh, would you look at that, Riddle," she tipped her head slightly. " _I'm_ the one that's on top, _over_ you," she commented lightly, reminding him of his comment from earlier the day before. As if it had only been two days. This had been the longest weekend of her life and she couldn't wait for it to be over.

Riddle didn't comment on the fact but he did say, "Are you going to get off?" He arched his brow.

"Are you going to let me?" She cocked her own eyebrow, feeling the way both his hands moved to grip her hips.

She held still when he lifted his head, bringing his face closer to hers and as their noses brushed, Hermione huffed out a breath when she found herself sprawling on the ground, glaring up at Riddle as he hovered above her, a smirk on his lips.

"And now _I'm_ on top, _over_ you. Just as I said I would be."

"I foresee your future,"

"Yes?"

"Yes, it's happened twice now so you must be careful to avoid it."

"And what have you seen?"

"A broken nose, caused by me," she answered, her tone airy.

"How near in the future?"

"Very," she scowled. "Are you going to get off?"

"Are you going to let me?" He fired back, lowering his gaze and Hermione followed, her scowl deepening when she saw that at some point during the switch, she'd fisted her hands in his jumper.

"Oh, get off,"

Riddle released a deep chuckle, a shiver darting down her spine when he pushed himself away from her and rose to his feet, dusting himself off and running a hand through his hair.

Hermione pierced him with a withering glare before climbing to her feet and brushing down her dress and then she retrieved her robes, slipping them on. She piled her hair on top of her head, muttering a Sticking Charm to keep it in place and she turned her attention to fixing her glasses, propping them on her nose.

"You look as threatening as a puffskein," he remarked.

She scowled at him. "I'll take that as a compliment," she lifted her head and set her hands on her hips. "They're adorable and I've always wanted one, sadly, my mother was allergic, she couldn't get within ten feet without sneezing up a storm."

That was true, she'd visit Diagon Alley during Christmas her first year and purchased one but the moment she stepped through the door her mother couldn't stop sneezing. Sadly she had to return it the same day, it had broken her twelve-year-old heart.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, it's getting late and I best check on my familiar, she throws a right tantrum when I'm gone too long," she said, which was true. Athena could be quite the diva. She turned on her heel and headed for the door, pausing for a moment. "I _will_ win next time. You best bring your A-game, Riddle, I fight to win."

Not giving him the chance to respond, she stepped out of the room, shut the door behind her and quickly made her way down the corridors. By the time she reached her dorm, she was aware she'd missed curfew and she'd barely dodged the prefects doing the rounds of the castle. Part of her wanted Riddle to get caught but knew he wouldn't. Not only was he smart enough to use magical aid, not only was he charming enough to talk himself out of detention, but he was head boy, they wouldn't dare to cross him.

Stepping into her dorm, Hermione released a startled noise when Athena hovered before her, flapping her wings madly and squawking at her loudly, her black, beady eyes watching her as if to say 'Where have you been, young lady? I've been worried sick.'

"Sorry," Hermione said sheepishly, soothing the disgruntled phoenix by stroking her feathers and Athena soon calmed, perching on Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione crossed the room with the intention to head straight to bed but something caught her eyes. Two boxes sat atop the coffee table, both wrapped in purple and silver but one being larger than the other.

Her brow furrowing, Hermione moved over to it, picking up the first and larger box. Looking to Athena and the phoenix nodding as if to give her agreement, Hermione unwrapped the box and lifted the lid, staring in surprise at the contents. The box was filled with all of her favourite chocolates and sweets, some of which hadn't yet been invented and there was certainly enough to give her parents a heart attack and send them into a rant about oral hygiene and the damage sugar did to teeth. Blinking slowly, she reached for the note sat atop the contents and lifted it, flipping it open.

_Nicely done,_

_HH_

She frowned in confusion before it suddenly hit her. HH. _Helga Hufflepuff._

Dropping the box on the table in surprise, she took a moment to regain her bearings before turning to the other box, quickly undoing the wrapping and removing the lid. Inside sat a book that looked older than Hogwarts itself, Hermione dared not touch it for fear of causing damage.

A note sat atop it and she gingerly reached for it, flipping it open.

_Impressive._

_Let's see what you can do with this._

_MLF_

She could only think of one person with those initials. _Morgana Le Fey_.

Hermione fell onto the couch, Athena voicing her disapproval.

Helga Hufflepuff, her Godmother and Morgana Le Fey, her father's enemy-turned-friend, sent her congratulatory gifts for using a curse on two fellow students that would not only have seen her being expelled should she have been caught, but likely thrown in Azkaban, too.

Her world had changed dramatically. Part of her liked it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 20

**Hogwarts - Monday 30th October 1944**

“Can I help you?” Hermione lifted her gaze from her textbook, staring up at the dark eyes of Evan Rosier as he stood before her desk.

“Nilrem,” he greeted, “Is this seat taken?” He tipped his head towards the empty seat beside her.

Hermione, eyeing him suspiciously, lifted her school bag from the seat and placed it on the ground by her feet without taking her gaze from him. Seeing this, he tipped his head in thanks and rounded the table, taking the seat beside her, removing his CoMC textbook from his bag and placing it on the table. Monday was always theory-based whilst the remaining lessons took place out on the school grounds. Given the weather was growing quite cold as they approached winter, she was grateful for a semi-warm classroom.

Once he’d finished with setting up his workspace, a quill, pot of ink and some parchment laid before him, she turned her attention back to the passage before her. She’d already read _Most Macabre Monstrosities_ before when she’d found the information about the basilisk back in her second year, but she wanted to do a quick recap on Manticores, the subject of that day’s lesson.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

Hermione slowly pulled her eyes from her book and to Rosier, arching an eyebrow.

“Perfectly fine, thank you. Yourself?”

“Great,” he replied, watching her cautiously.

Hermione’s mouth twitched and for a bit of fun, she reached up and removed her glasses, making a show of cleaning the lenses with her jumper, being fully entertained in the way a shiver visibly passed through Rosier and he leaned back from her slightly.

“That’s good to hear,” she smiled, slipping her glasses back on her nose and he seemed to calm, the tension in his body relaxing.

It was a wonder how a simple pair of glasses made a difference. With them he seemed unconcerned, without them, he was terrified. She loved that.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you sitting with me? I know you usually sit by yourself at the back of the classroom.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps I was in the mood for a little bit of company.”

“Or, Riddle’s put you up to sitting with me. He’s asked you to keep an eye on me, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

She snorted and his eyes widened a little at the unladylike sound leaving her. She’d forgotten he was a Slytherin, all of his house filled with Pureblood witches, none of them would be seen dead doing such a thing. She’d forgotten only Riddle had seen this side of her.

“Come now, Evan, I am not an idiot and neither am I blind. I was quite aware of Lestrange scaring a Hufflepuff out of his seat so he might sit at the workbench to my left in herbology, Riddle already occupies the seat to my right in potions, much to my annoyance, and now here you are, sitting beside me, too.”

“You should be careful what you say, Nilrem,” he warned, his eyes darting about as if he was worried they were being watched.

She rolled her eyes. “Riddle does not scare me, far from it. I can handle him just fine. So, what is his plan? To have me surrounded so no one would dare lay a finger on me, so they’d be too afraid to even look at me? How will that work in regards to using the bathroom? Or meal times?” She tipped her head questioningly.

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn, just give him what he wants. It’s easier that way.”

“Is that a friendly bit of advice?” She arched her eyebrow.

“You know what he did,” he lowered his voice. “But he’s capable of so much more,” he told her, a frightened look entering his eyes before he gave his head a shake. “His patience will eventually wear thin.”

Hermione smiled. “I can handle, Riddle. And no, I shan’t give him what he wants.”

“Why not?” He asked, looking exasperated.

“Because, he wants _me_. And I don’t want to be his. I’m not a possession, I’m a human being, something he seems to be having difficulty understanding. But this does not concern you, though I am grateful for your concern.”

“Nilrem....”

“No, Evan. I won’t give him what he wants. I know far more than you realise and I know what I’m doing. Now, if you’re going to interrupt my learning environment, I would appreciate it if you would return to your previous seat, I have a record to maintain and I don’t take _kindly_ to people interfering with my learning.” He released a grumbled breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that,” she scolded, reaching out and batting his hand away from his mop of hair. Honestly, she thought Harry’s had been bad. “You need a haircut.”

“Excuse me?” He questioned in surprise.

“You need a haircut,” she repeated. “I’m sorry to say, it’s quite hard to pull off the ‘just rolled out of bed’ look and unfortunately it’s not working for you, rather, you look like a tramp.”

“Excuse me?” His voice rose in indignation.

Hermione had to fight back the snigger. He honestly looked as insulted as a disgruntled hippogriff and it was hilarious.

“You look like a tramp,” she repeated slowly. “Not to worry, it’s an easy enough fix and I’d be happy to do it for you. No? Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me, after all, Riddle’s been having me followed for weeks now so I’m certain you know my routine better than I do.”

“Everyone, settle down, we have a lot to get through today,” called the professor as he stepped into the room.

Hermione wasn’t even that upset that she hadn’t gotten the chance to finish reading the passage in her book.

~000~000~000~

“Report,” Tom instructed, his gaze firmly fixed on Nilrem sat at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, as close to the door as possible.

He observed her eyeing her lunch cautiously before she raised her goblet of water, sniffing at it purposely before tapping the tip of her wand against the rim. Apparently being happy with the results, she sipped at the cold liquid but still eyed the food suspiciously. She’d been doing this from the moment she’d taken a seat for lunch, her gaze darting between the food options and her opened textbook. She hadn’t been at breakfast that morning and despite not wanting to admit it, that had unsettled him. 

“She appeared to be fine in herbology, nothing I wouldn’t normally expect from her,” Lestrange shrugged, his eyes being on his plate.

Tom sent him an unhappy glance before turning his gaze to Rosier.

“I would say she is taking this far too well,” Rosier answered. “She appeared no different to her usual self in class and she implied harm should I interrupt her learning.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Rosier shifted in his seat uncomfortably and reached for his goblet, taking a sip before setting it back on the table.

“She...Erm...” He hesitated. Seeing Malfoy’s look of warning, he took a breath and continued. “She may have chastised me.”

“For?” Tom arched his eyebrow.

“She said I need a haircut because I look like a tramp.”

Tom gazed at him for a moment before a chuckle slipped past his lips, surprising those around him as they shared a glance.

“She is not wrong, Rosier,” Tom replied. “As we are all aware, appearance is everything,” he spoke pointedly, his eyes firmly locked on the witch of his obsession, feeling pleased when she finally picked up a slice of buttered bread and nibbled at it.

“Today’s remaining classes are shared with Nilrem, I’ll be sure to keep an eye on her but remain close by should I need you,” he instructed.

~000~000~000~

“Are you avoiding me?”

Hermione halted in her steps, released a tired sigh and then turned around, coming face to face with Riddle.

“Yes, I thought that was obvious,” she replied.

“Why?”

“You’re a giant pain in the arse,” she shrugged, spinning on her heel and continuing down the corridor.

She had a free period, the last one of the day but she hadn’t felt like spending it in the library and neither had she felt like spending it in her rooms, so she’d walked the corridors in silence, searching for the perfect spot for a bit of light reading. She wasn’t surprised Riddle had been following her, he hadn’t left her alone all day and it had taken everything she had in her not to hex him in the middle of class.

“I am only concerned for your well-being,” he said, falling into step beside her which wasn’t all that hard to do given his longer legs.

“I’m touched,” she responded drily, “However, I am more than capable of caring for myself and I don’t need your concern.”

“Why are you so stubborn?”

“Stubborn? Me? I don’t know what you mean. I like to think of it as being independent.”

She turned the corner and headed for a door at the end of the corridor, a door she knew hid a broom cupboard, but what most people didn’t know was there was a second door inside that opened up to a staircase which led to one of the castle turrets. Though it was clear he was surprised by the reveal of the secret staircase no one knew about, that didn’t stop him from following her to the very top until they stepped into an empty room. This was something that wasn’t on the Marauder’s Map, it not having been found by the Marauders. The only reason she knew about its existence was that her father had told her about it.

The circular room was barren and small, barely enough room for a handful of people to fit in comfortably but for her and Riddle, it would do. Without comment, she approached the window, climbing the two steps that would allow her to perch on the stone ledge before she reached up, opening the window and letting in the autumn chill. Not acknowledging Riddle’s presence, she silently reached inside her bag and removed _Most Macabre Monstrosities_ and opened it up to the bookmark.

“How did you know this was here?” Riddle asked, no doubt surveying his surroundings suspiciously.

“My father, he used to come here to study away from the rest of the school. It comes in quite handy, too, when you want to hide from somebody, however, I’m afraid I’ll have to find somewhere else now,” she responded, looking to him pointedly.

He slowly approached, moving to perch beside her on the window ledge, not needing to use the steps as she had, which she admitted, was a little annoying.

“And what has your attention this afternoon?”

Hermione didn’t take her eyes from the page as she lifted the book, showing him the cover before lowering it back to her lap.

“ _Most Macabre Monstrosities_ ,” he mused.

“That is what the title says,” she agreed. “I’ve already completed my assignment for class, but I felt a little more research was in order.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, we had to select two creatures of our choosing and complete a profile based on the species.”

“And what species did you choose?”

“Only the most intriguing, of course,” she replied, her mouth twitching into a smirk when she lifted her gaze from her book, looking to him. “Acromantula and Basilisks.”

Riddle’s entire body froze beside her and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Intriguing?” He pressed.

“Yes, intriguing,” she nodded. “I heard a rumour that there was a death last year, as well as a few attacks. It sent the school into panic, so much so it almost closed. After doing a little digging, I love a good research project, I discovered an Acromantula was said to have been responsible for the attacks, but reports from the hospital wing say the attacks involved petrifaction.”

“Is that so?” He inquired innocently.

“It is,” she nodded.

“And how do you know that?”

“Well, I broke into the hospital wing and searched the records,” she confessed, “How else was I supposed to get my hands on the reports?”

“That’s a serious break of school rules, Nilrem,” he told her, his expression blank.

“Oh, you’d be a good Head Boy and report me?” She arched a brow. “And here I thought we had something special,” she rolled her eyes. “Please, we’ve both done far worse. Anyway, after some light reading, I discovered that there was no possible way an Acromantula could’ve been responsible, they don’t have the ability to render a human or being in such a state. Basilisks, on the hand, do.”

“What do you know, Nilrem?” His voice lowered and his magic suddenly swarmed the small room as he leaned closer, staring down at her with dark, dangerous eyes.

She smiled. “Well, I’ve heard mention of a possible hidden room in the castle, created by one of the Founders themselves. The Chamber of Secrets was said to have belonged to one, Salazar Slytherin, and a creature was said to have been locked away, waiting for the day the Heir of Slytherin returned to Hogwarts to free it. Of course, this is all just speculation and there’s no actual proof, but it is interesting, wouldn’t you agree?” She asked innocently, taking far too much pleasure in his stunned expression. “How could someone, a professor, completely overlook the fact that Acromantulas aren’t capable of petrifaction? But, I suppose they were just glad to have something to blame and with the attacks no longer happening, the school could remain open. No harm done, right? Unless, it’s still here and waiting to be called upon again? Say, you were a prefect last year, right? Did you hear anything about these attacks? Do you think there’s some truth to the legend of the Chamber and the Heir of Slytherin?” She tipped her head, snapping her book shut.

“I can’t say I did,” he replied.

Her mouth twitched. “Oh, that’s a shame,” she frowned. “Imagine if there really was an Heir of Slytherin, and they were in the school with us? I can only imagine the power they’d possess and if I’m honest, I’d quite like to meet someone so powerful. It’s said Slytherin had the ability to speak to snakes, so I’d assume that ability would be passed down through the bloodline. Can you imagine possessing such a rare gift?”

“You almost seem jealous,” he commented, his body relaxing and his expression morphing into pleased smugness.

“A little,” she admitted. “But, not everyone can be born for greatness,” she shrugged. “Anyway, I best get back to my dorm, I need to check on my familiar.”

She stood from the ledge, placed the book back in her school bag and hopped off the steps, amusing him.

“Nilrem, you’re attending Slughorn’s party tomorrow, aren’t you?” He questioned, standing from the ledge and slipping his hands into his trouser pockets casually.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, pausing in her steps towards the door and turning to face him. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you have an escort?”

She tipped her head slightly before she reached up, pulled her glasses from her face and cleaned the lenses with her jumper, arching an eyebrow. The change in him was instantaneous. If it were possible he’d have stood taller, his ice-blue eyes darkened and his magic swarmed her heavily, his expression similar to the one from the day before when they’d been in alone the Room of Requirements. _So all she had to do was remove her glasses? Interesting,_ she thought.

“No, I don’t have an escort. I have since learned my lesson.”

“Then perhaps I might escort you.”

“I don’t believe that would be wise,” she replied, taking her time with cleaning the lenses of her glasses.

“Why not?” He arched an eyebrow.

“We both know what happened to the last wizard that escorted me to a party.”

“We both know I am not foolish enough to wish you such harm,” he responded.

She tipped her head to the other side. “Even still, I can’t imagine it being a good decision. You were last seen with Selwyn, what would people say should you be seen escorting me to a party not two days after?”

“They are not stupid enough to make such comments,” he argued, knowing what she was implying without having to actually say it.

“You have far too much faith in the school populace, more so than I. And whilst they might not make comments about you, they most certainly will about me. As it is, should word get back to Selwyn and she attempts to harm me, I will be forced to defend myself and I won’t be merciful. As such, I don’t want to risk my position here at Hogwarts.”

“You will be safe, I’ll make sure of it.”

“That’s kind of you, and I appreciate the offer, Riddle, but, for my peace of mind, I’m going to attend the party alone.”

“That will be just as bad as attending with me,” he pointed out.

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “But at least I won’t be accused of stealing you from Selwyn,” she rolled her eyes, “Or heaven forbid, that I’m _interested_ in you. I’ve no doubt I’ll see you or one of your little henchmen later, so until then,” she bowed mockingly before slipping her glasses back on and heading for the door, but she paused with her hand on the doorknob.

“You know, Riddle, now that I think about it, that bathroom on the second floor corridor, is it just me or was there a serpent carved into one of the sinks?” She asked, turning to look over her shoulder, seeing his expression morphing yet again. God, she loved winding him up! “Hmm, must be a coincidence,” she shook her head before leaving out the door.

~000~000~000~

**Tuesday 31st October 1944**

“What do you think? Do I look presentable?” Hermione asked Athena, twisting to look over her shoulder. The phoenix released a squawk and flapped her wings. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said before she turned away from the mirror, not wishing to stare at her reflection any longer lest she changes her mind; she was already second-guessing her choice in dress and makeup as it was. “I won’t be long.” Athena released a squawk and tipped her head to the side. Hermione rolled her eyes. “That was one time and it wasn’t my fault,” she argued before giving her head a shake and heading for the door.

Hermione was sure to cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and a Silencing Charm on her shoes, allowing her to make her way to the dungeons unseen by any of the students who were wandering the castle but at the late hour, most would be in their dorms and common rooms with curfew just around the corner. Only those sixteen and older were allowed to attend Slughorn’s ridiculous party and she was not looking forward to it. If it were anything like the Christmas party she’d attended she’d duck out within the hour.

As she reached her destination, she could hear chatter and faint music coming from behind the door and after steeling her nerves and taking a breath, she removed the charm until she was visible and then she stepped inside. The sounds grew marginally louder and her eyes scanned her surroundings, seeing the many lit candles, torches and candelabras, the swatches of silk and fancy table cloths where finger foods and beverages sat atop, as well as a waiter or two dressed smartly in dark robes wandering around with samples and trays of wine and mead.

There was far more people than she was expecting there to be and most of them she didn’t recognise which wasn’t all that surprising given they looked to be older than the current student population. Before she’d properly had a chance to take it all in, Slughorn was before her, complimenting her beauty despite his clear surprise at her appearance and she was soon introduced to a number of Ministry officials as he raved and ranted about Hermione’s intelligence. She remained quiet and smiled politely, only speaking when asked questions and appearing humble or embarrassed in the appropriate places. It was exhausting.

It was sometime later when Hermione was able to escape Slughorn and she didn’t hesitate to approach the beverages, eyeing her options cautiously. She chose the elf wine, it not being her favourite choice but it was easier to detect if it had been tampered with. Not smelling anything suspicious and after taking a small sip and tasting the bitter flavour it was known for having, she deemed it safe for consumption. She knew she was being paranoid but she’d be suspicious of all food and drink for the foreseeable future.

She startled when someone stepped up beside her, reaching for a flute of champagne.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, I was in a world of my own and didn’t hear you approach,” she replied, turning to look to her right, her eyes widening the tiniest bit.

Whilst she’d never seen the wizard before, not only was she well aware of how handsome he was, but that he seemed familiar to her, too. His hair was dark, thick and wavy, falling just over the tips of his ears and a strand falling over his forehead and into his eyes. His skin was pale and blemish-free, contrasting against his dark robes and his eyes were so dark she struggled to see the pupil. His nose was straight, his jawline prominent and cheekbones high. He stood tall, towering over her even with the added height of her heels.

Realising she was staring, she gave her head a shake.

“I’m sorry, but for a moment I could’ve sworn you seemed familiar.”

His mouth tugged into a smirk. “You truly are his daughter, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” She frowned in confusion.

“Would you care to dance?” He questioned, holding his hand out towards her.

“But I don’t even know your name,” she replied, eyeing his hand cautiously.

“Sal, my friends know me as Sal.”

“But I’m not your friend,” she pointed out.

“No, you’re something else entirely,” he replied amusedly.

Feeling confused, intrigued and a little uncomfortable, she saw no way of getting out of it and placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her towards the dance floor where there was a small crowd of dancers. He slipped his hand to her waist and went no further and she slipped her free hand to his shoulder, allowing him to slowly and gently guide her in the steps to the slow melody playing.

“I have to say, you look radiant this evening, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” she replied automatically before pausing. “How do you know my name?”

His mouth tugged into a smirk. Why was it so familiar?

“You look far better in that gown than I could have ever imagined. I’m quite pleased with my choice despite ‘Wena’s protests that I really ought to choose another gown.”

“Excuse me?” Her brow furrowed.

He smiled at her. “I was surprised the old witch found the gown at all, I placed it in plain sight and she wandered past it _three_ times before spotting it.”

“I... I don’t understand,” she frowned, attempting to pull back from him but he held her tighter, preventing her from doing so. “Do I know you? Have we met before?”

“We have not met before, you know _of_ me but I believe you know my Grandson very well.”

Her eyes slowly traced his amused expression, cataloguing his features from his hair right down to that damn infuriating smirk before realisation smacked her in the face.

“Merlin!” She whispered, her eyes widening.

“Your father, what has he got to do with this evening?” He tipped his head innocently.

“It’s you! You’re Salazar Slytherin,” she whisper-hissed, her eyes darting about to see no one was looking their way or seemed to be even remotely interested in them.

“That I am, Dear. And Sal will do just fine, I am, after all, your Godfather,” he smirked.

“What...” She spluttered, unable to organise her thoughts or find the words to speak.

“My, it has been a long time since I’ve seen you this surprised, I have missed it,” he mused.

“But... What are you doing here? Why do you look like _that_? _What_ are you doing here?” She repeated.

He chuckled. “This is my younger self,” he answered.

She opened her mouth, closed it and then opened it again. “I’m sorry to say, you did not age well.”

He laughed in surprise at her comment. “You are far more like your father than I previously realised. It seems I owe Helga dinner.”

“What?” She frowned.

“Never mind, as for what I’m doing here, isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really, no,” she replied, unable to take her eyes from him. As if, she was dancing with _the_ Salazar Slytherin and he was her Godfather. 

“Your father is taking care of some Elder business and I wished to check up on you after what happened,” he admitted, his expression suddenly darkening, his magic pouring from him in a manner that was similar to Riddle’s before he reigned it in.

“I’m fine,”

“Are you?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, I am. I’ve ensured justice was served, not only for me but the other girls that were targeted. I was lucky, they were not. I admit, I am having a little trouble trusting that my food and drink haven’t been tampered with but I’m sure that is something I will get over. Morgana’s spell did wonders for its purpose.”

His mouth tugged at the corners. “I have never seen that witch so proud in all her death, it was truly a magnificent sight,” he tipped his head in approval. “But, I am here for another reason. Since ‘Rus finally revealed himself to you and you are aware of your heritage, I thought it about time we meet one another, clear the air, so to speak.”

“There is nothing to be said,” she waved him off.

“But there is,” he sighed tiredly, suddenly looking older than his twenty-something appearance. “I am truly sorry that you have suffered so greatly and under the pretence of _my_ beliefs and my blood.”

“It wasn’t your fault, father explained to me that your beliefs were lost in translation as the years past and that is something you couldn’t control. I understand that you did not hate Muggleborns, more specifically, you were wary of them and the threat of their muggle families, which is understandable, especially after the Witch Trials.”

“A true tragedy,” he agreed.

“But I believe muggles are far more accepting these days than they used to be, but that doesn’t mean we should expose our world and way of life to everyone. We need to be kept apart because it is what is best for everyone.”

“Agreed,” he nodded.

“Is that all?”

“No, I know you have a difficult mission,” he started and Hermione pursed her lips whilst also scowling at him, being reminded of what her father told her about Slytherin’s wishes of her and Riddle one day marrying. “And I know my Grandson is a difficult man but with the right guidance, with the right witch by his side, he can do great things for the world. We both know things need to change and they need to do so for the better and despite his beliefs, Tom has the ability and power to do that.”

“But as you said, his beliefs are something he feels strongly about. How am I supposed to change that? And even if I do, he needs the support of the Pureblood families, if they discover he no longer believes in blood purity, he will lose that. In which, what would happen then?”

“You have to show him the truth, Hermione. Show him _my_ truth.”

“That’s easier said than done,” she sighed. “At the moment, I’m close to hexing his mouth shut.”

He chuckled. “I can’t imagine him taking kindly to that. But, perhaps you should give him what he wants.”

“I’m not a possession,” she scowled. “I am a human being. He wants to _own_ me, like I’m a bleeding house-elf. I know that I must be close to him and I must gain his trust, but I refuse to be a slave.”

“Then don’t. Be his companion. Be his trusted advisor. Be his lover.”

She scowled. “Father told me everything, he said you want me to marry him.”

“I’m not opposed to our bloodlines joining,” he tipped his head, not bothering to look surprised or apologetic. “You are everything he needs, Hermione. You are powerful, responsible, kind and caring. But you are also vengeful and intelligent. You know when the time calls for punishment and when it does not. You can help to curb his darker desires. Whilst you may not practice the magic he does, you are not afraid to toe the line, so to speak. You are not afraid of him and you challenge him in intelligence, power and will. He has many flaws, that I am not denying, but is he really so bad?”

Hermione took a breath, steeling her nerves and carefully thinking of her next response.

“I admit that he is handsome and although it frightens me, I’ve come to realise that sometime during my arrival and our interactions, I am attracted to him. I admit that I feel safe when he is nearby and I’m not entirely certain how, but I know he won’t harm me. And whilst I now know he would never resort to forcing himself on a woman, something that makes him seem less monstrous, I know what he’s capable of, I know what he’s done and what he’s going to do, and that is hard for me to comprehend.”

“That is understandable, but he is Tom Riddle, _not_ Voldemort. He’s done some terrible things as did I when I was his age, if I am being honest, I did far worse. The only thing that changed me was meeting my wife. She was to me, what you can be for Tom.”

Her eyes fell to the ground as she nibbled at her lip thoughtfully.

“Still, to be his _lover_. The thought alone....” She trailed off with a sigh.

“Well, I’m not your father, so I hope you don’t feel too uncomfortable with what I’m about to say. I have seen your interactions, and I take great amusement in your bickering, but even a blind man can see the chemistry between you. You argue frequently but in the bedroom, I’m sure that will mean neither of you will be unsatisfied.”

“Was what your way of trying to be subtle?” She arched her brow.

“You understood my meaning,” he shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about what might happen between us, rather, that I know I’ll feel guilty. I feel guilty being attracted to him, how will I feel if I sleep with him? And more than once? I don’t want to betray my friends.”

“You’re not, Hermione. You are here for a reason, to save them. As hard as it is for you to comprehend, _your_ Harry and Ron, they are dead and they are never coming back.” Her gaze fell down to the ground. “Should you succeed, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are quite likely to be different people, people that may not know you or each other the way you remember. They are gone and you are betraying no one but yourself. If you have feelings for Tom, no matter what they may be, that is your business and no one else’s. If you enjoy spending your time in his bed, that is your decision. You must survive, too. Tom will keep you safe. He has already shown he cares for you in his own way. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have taken your drugging so personally, he wouldn’t have taken you to the safety of his dorm and allowed you to stay in his bed, he wouldn’t have demanded their punishment or that it lasted as long as it did, especially when there was a chance they could’ve been reported missing and he’d fall under scrutiny. He put himself in jeopardy for you whether he realises that or not. I don’t believe he will ever truly seek remorse for what he’s done in the past, but I do believe that with you, he can achieve great things and he can learn to manage the darker parts of himself.”

“This is a lot to take in,” she muttered.

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I feel you needed a second point of view, an unbiased opinion.”

She snorted. “You are far from unbiased.”

“So I am,” he tipped his head in defeat.

Hermione cleared her throat. “So, you are the one that chose this dress?”

“Yes, but I had a little help from Helga.” Hermione glanced down at herself before looking to him in surprise. “Helga is not as sweet and innocent as she is depicted to be.”

“That, I am beginning to understand,” Hermione nodded. “But why a dress such as this?”

“Tom, of course,” he replied, as if it were obvious. She released a sigh. “My Dear, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

“What?” She whisper-hissed.

“He has been watching you from the moment you stepped into the room which is quite understandable.”

“I never saw him.”

“He was tucked away in the corner, conversing with some of Slughorn’s more esteemed guests.”

“Of course he was,” she rolled her eyes. “And just who does Slughorn think you are?”

“An Auror,”

Hermione burst into sniggers. “Please, given the magic I know you preferred, that is ridiculous.”

“Well, it’s a highly respected career choice and I was somewhat of an Auror in my living years. I protected the school from outside influences and attackers.”

“I’ve heard it all now,” she replied.

“As for my Grandson, he has been glaring daggers at me from the moment I approached you. I admit, now I understand why you antagonise him so much, it is quite fun.”

“I know, it’s my favourite part of the day,” she nodded and he chuckled.

“Well, he looks to be doing his best to calm himself before he approaches, what say we push his control a little bit further?”

“How?” She asked amused.

He grinned at her before unexpectedly spinning her under his arm, then twirling her away from him before pulling her back into him and dipping her low, a laugh falling from her lips. By the time he’d set her back on her feet, Riddle was stood behind her, his expression furious, his eyes dark and doing his best not to free his magic but she could feel it brushing against her skin like a summer’s breeze. Being able to fee it too, Salazar’s mouth tugged into a smirk and Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. Riddle was jealous, but not only that, he was jealous of his Grandfather. It was priceless.

“Would you mind if I stole Miss. Nilrem?” Riddle asked politely. They both knew it was a front.

“Of course not,” Salazar replied, turning his eyes back to Hermione. “It has been a pleasure, My Dear.”

“It has,” Hermione agreed. “Will I see you again?”

Salazar’s dark eyes sparkled in amusement and approval as he pulled back from her, took her hand in his and bowed.

“I do hope so.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before rising to full height, releasing her hand, nodding to Riddle and then stepping back, disappearing into the crowd until he was gone.

She almost couldn’t believe it had happened.

“Who was that?”

Hermione turned to face Riddle, doing her best to school her features into an expression of confusion and innocence, as if she hadn’t been deliberately trying to wind him up with his Grandfather’s assistance.

“I’m sorry,”

“ _Who_ was that?” He repeated, his gaze dark and just daring her to lie to him.

“Oh, that was Sal,” she replied innocently.

“What did he want?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not entirely sure, we didn’t do a lot of talking,” she tipped her head, enjoying the way his jaw visibly ticked and before she’d seen it coming, he’d swept her against him, one hand settling against her waist and the other holding hers, swiftly falling into step with the music playing. She blinked in surprise and gave her head a light shake.

“The polite thing to do would be to ask me if I wished to dance,” she said, looking up at him.

“Would you have agreed?”

“Possibly, if only to avoid a scene.”

“This way is much easier,” he told her, subtly shifting his weight to guide her further from one of the other dancing couples on the dance floor.

“Still, it was quite rude the way you interrupted my conversation with Sal.”

“As you said yourself, you didn’t do a lot of talking,” he argued, his fingers flexing against her waist before loosening his grip and he tugged her a little closer to his body.

“Careful, Riddle, you almost sound jealous.”

“Jealous?” He repeated in disbelief.

“That is what I said, jealous.”

“That is not my fault. When you are dressed in such a manner, you are bound to attract attention.”

“You do not approve of my choice in gown this evening?” She arched her brow, her mouth twitching.

His nose flared and his hold on her tightened as his eyes deliberately and slowly trailed her form from head to toe.

“I did not say that,”

“Oh, so you _do_ approve?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you dressed for _me_.”

“Why would I do that?” She asked innocently. “The witch chose the gown believing it would suit my skin tone and body shape and I have to commend her. At first, I was quite uncertain but now, I think I might send her a gift basket.”

“You and me both,” he muttered, his eyes lingering slowly.

Salazar knew exactly what he was doing, Hermione decided.

She’d kept her makeup simple, opting for a dash of mascara to thicken and lengthen her eyelashes, a nude shimmer eye shadow and the most dramatic of it all, a dark red lip stain that outlined the bow shape of her mouth. Her dress, on the other hand, was far from simple and far being similar to the gown she’d worn to the Halloween Ball. Her current gown was made of emerald green silk, the gown being held up by two thin shoulder straps and the material looking as though it had been poured over her as it fit to her frame and fell down to the floor. The neckline was a little on the risky side but showed nothing inappropriate, however, there was a slit in the dress dangerously high on her right leg, showing her smooth, pale skin when she walked and the silver strappy heels beneath.

She should’ve realised sooner. Green and silver. Slytherin’s colours.

With her arms, shoulders and neck uncovered, she’d been sure to glamour all potentially visible scars, all except one. The one Riddle’s eyes latched onto.

“ _What_ is that?” He hissed, his grip on her waist tightening before releasing it and he brought his hand up to her throat, his fingers softly skimming the thin line he found there. Admittedly, a shiver ran through her at his touch.

“A scar,”

“How did you get it?” He gave her a look of annoyance for her simple but evasive answer, them both knowing what he’d meant.

“That’s none of your business,” she replied, pulling free of his hold, spinning on her heel and manoeuvring through the crowd, heading for the door.

She’d barely stepped out into the chilly corridor when Riddle was upon her, caging her against the stone wall with his hands pressed on either side of her head and his body before hers yet he wasn’t actually touching her.

“How did you get it, _Hermione_?”

She breathed in deeply through the nose and slowly released it through the mouth.

“I don’t see how that matters, and I don’t understand why you care so much for my past experiences.”

“You are mine.”

“No, I’m not,” she argued, glaring up at him.

“When will you accept the inevitable?”

“Never, it’s not going to happen.”

“It is,” he said confidently. His head lowered, his nose brushing the skin of her throat. “You and I both know you _will_ be mine.”

Her breath hitched and her skin broke out in goosebumps when his magic suddenly surrounded her, her brain finding it hard to think let alone come up with a response and before she’d realised it, her hands had moved to his robes, twisting the fabric in her clenched fists tightly.

He released a chuckle that sent a zing straight down her spine and to her toes.

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled.

“Do what?” He questioned innocently, his body moving a little closer to hers, helping to fend off the chill settling around them.

“ _That_!” She clarified, tugging at his robes and slumping against the wall when his magic retreated only to surround her again. “It’s hard to think when you do that.”

“Is that so?” He muttered, his lips brushing her skin with each word he spoke.

Needing to turn the tables, Hermione allowed her own magic free, it pouring from her until it surrounded them, twining with his and making the air stuffy and tense. He lifted his head, breathing in deeply and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again, his gaze dark and hungry.

She was screwed.

“Yes, it is,” she said, her voice breathier than she’d have liked but there was nothing she could do about it.

“Give in to me,” he muttered, his voice lowering seductively.

“No,”

“You will be safe with me. Protected. _Satisfied_ in every way possible.”

“No,”

He released a sigh. “My patience is wearing thin,” he warned.

“So is mine.”

“I have the power to give you anything you desire, all you have to do is be mine. I am not asking much of you.”

“No, you’re asking everything of me,” she disagreed.

His nose ran the length of her throat, over her jaw and his mouth hovered by her ear as he whispered, “ _Hermione_...”

“Tom, my lad, there you are, I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. Oh, and you’re with Miss. Nilrem,” Slughorn’s surprised voice carried.

Hermione hated the way Tom pulled back from her, turning to face Slughorn with a guilt-ridden expression.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said, grinning sheepishly and a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he shifted on his feet. Hermione’s eyes narrowed. He was blushing! How the hell did he force that?!

Slughorn’s expression morphed from surprise into a pleased knowing smile.

“Ah, not to worry, I was a teenager once,” he said, giving a knowing wink. Hermione didn’t know who she wanted to slap more. Slughorn or Riddle. “But come now, love birds, the night is still young and there are some guests I’ve yet to introduce you to. I’m certain you will find time to be alone together in the future.”

“Yes, Professor,” Riddle complied, his hand reaching for Hermione’s and hooking it in the crease of his elbow and he guided her forward.

“I swear, Riddle, I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

“No, you’re not,” he replied quietly, smiling down at her adoringly. Hermione wasn’t blind to Slughorn’s pleased grin.

The moment they entered through the door, Hermione plastered a friendly and polite smile on her face.

“This is the wizard I was telling you about, Tom Riddle,” Slughorn said excitedly, his hands gesturing between a group of five older wizards and Tom. “And this lovely young witch is his beau, Hermione Nilrem, incredibly intelligent she is, she and Tom are currently academically tied for first place and we are expecting great things from the both of them.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” Hermione smiled politely, tipping her head and folding her hands before her, not missing the way they each eyed her curiously but also leeringly and she felt Riddle stiffen beside her, his arm winding around her waist and tugging her into his side possessively.

Hermione blocked out Riddle’s exchange them but she was soon brought back to attention when she heard her name.

“....What do aspire to be once you graduate Hogwarts?”

“Well, if I am completely honest, there are so many options that I am struggling to simply chose one. I have always enjoyed learning so perhaps I might undertake a Mastery but I do enjoy a challenge and the only way I feel that will be achieved is by completing two within a single year, something I know is highly discouraged but I believe I would succeed. I also know there are only a handful of witches that have a law degree and such practices have always intrigued me, even as a young child. I’ve also an interest in Wand Lore and the secrets that are hidden from society and only shared between the family employees. There are many hidden and long forgotten forms of magic in the world and I can only imagine the adventures one might have in discovering such knowledge. Of course, that is but a few options I’m currently considering.”

The five wizards looked to one another and blinked in surprise before their eyes darted back to her.

“But, of course, any career path I choose must not prevent me from helping Tom in achieving his goals,” she smiled sweetly, feeling Riddle’s fingers flex against her waist and she looked up at him, seeing his ice-blue eyes darkening as he gazed down at her. That was the first time she’d called him by his given name and he seemed to approve.

“Yes, yes, as I said, both are destined for great things,” Slughorn cut in, plucking _another_ flute of champagne from a tray as a server walked past.

“Yes, Horace has been quite forthcoming regarding your aspirations, Mr. Riddle,” one of the wizards said.

“And behind a great man, is a great woman,” another said, his eyes leering at Hermione.

Riddle’s form stiffened and she felt his magic swarm the room threateningly. She reached up with her hand, tugging at his robes and his dark gaze cut to her. He was furious. Subtly, she gave her head a shake and he seemed to understand the warning as he took a breath and his magic retreated but not entirely, still surrounding her and brushing against her skin.

“I am lucky to have found mine so young,” he smiled. Hermione _was_ going to slap him.

“Yes, and one so beautiful and intelligent, too. A rare find indeed.”

~000~000~000~

**Friday 3rd November 1994**

Nilrem had been avoiding him for days and he _hated_ it. More often than not, his followers had been on the receiving end of his temper and they scurried whenever he was nearby.

She’d fled from Slughorn’s party as soon as possible, the emerald of her silk gown trailing behind her as she rounded the corner of the halls and her heels echoing in the large castle. He’d excused himself, making excuses of needing to escort Hermione back to her dorm before he retired for the night himself, needing to get some sleep before classes the next morning and once he’d left, he followed after her but she’d soon disappeared from his view.

That night he’d gone to bed, images of soft pale skin, dark eyes, emerald silk and red-stained lips filling his mind. He was certain she’d worn that gown on purpose, to get his attention and she had from the moment she’d stepped into Slughorn’s party. The light of the candles had cast shadows over her skin and the emerald silk that covered her body had shimmered and rippled like running water. The gown could have been made for her. And Merlin! The risky slit in her gown had most certainly tested his patience whenever her pale flesh was revealed when she walked.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from watching her, observing, _obsessing_. Salazar did he want her! He wanted her like he’d never wanted anything else and it was driving him insane.

The feel of her magic reacting to his was intoxicating, the feel of her warm skin beneath his nose and lips was drugging and her scent of honey was unforgettable. He had to have her. She would be his, in every way imaginable.

She’d done her absolute best to ignore him in their shared classes, barely glancing at him despite his attempts to infuriate her, something that had never failed to get a reaction. She attended few and fewer meals in the great hall and she used her knowledge of the castle to her advantage, avoiding him and his Knights no matter how many he ordered to follow her. It was infuriating. He’d spooked her at the party, he’d known that but he couldn’t get the sound of his given name falling from her lips from ringing in his ears, of her words supporting him and playing along with the rouse from filling his thoughts. Slughorn had been more useful than Tom had thought was possible.

Lifting his gaze, he caught sight of Rosier and Nott whispering between one another, doing their best to keep their glances subtle but failing miserably. They were talking about _him_ , he knew.

Looking about the common room, Tom double-checked it was empty of everyone but his Knights before leaning back into the armchair, his book lay open on his lap and he steepled his fingers together and narrowed his eyes.

“Care to share with the rest of us?” He spoke.

Rosier and Nott both froze, their heads slowly turning in his direction, panic darting through their eyes.

Nott opened his mouth before snapping it shut and he sat tall, shuffling on the cushion of the couch. Malfoy, Lestrange, Dolohov and Avery’s eyes moved away from their homework assignments and darted between him and the two wizards.

“No, My Lord,” Rosier replied, a waver in his voice.

“No, no, the floor is all yours,” Tom gestured to the ground before him with a wave of his hand. “What do you wish to say?”

Rosier visibly gulped and a bead a sweat formed on his forehead.

“It’s about Nilrem.”

“Oh?” Tom inquired innocently, his fury building but he kept his expression calm.

“She...Erm... She said something to me earlier in the week,” he admitted.

“And that is?”

“Well, she...” He hesitated before thinking better of it. “I asked why she was being so stubborn, My Lord. Her answer was not one I was expecting.” Tom arched an eyebrow. “She told me that she is not a possession. She is a human being. If I might offer some advice, My Lord, perhaps treating her like a witch might work in your favour.”

Tom’s brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“Rosier’s right,” Malfoy nodded in agreement. “Whilst we are aware Nilrem is unlike other witches and does not care for the same things, she is still a _witch_. In my experience, they like to be listened to. They enjoy being showered with gifts and attention. They appreciate a gesture no matter how grand. Has Nilrem said something in passing that might be of use to you?”

Tom scoured his memory and pursed his lips, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully.

“Perhaps,” he tipped his head. And then suddenly it hit him. “Yes,” his mouth pulled into a smirk. “I know just the thing. Malfoy, I require the use of your owl.”

“Of course, My Lord,” he tipped his head.

Tom knew exactly how to make her his.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 39

**Friday 3rd November 1994**

"What are you doing here, Riddle?" Hermione muttered, barely sparing him a glance.

"I can ask you the same question," he replied, leaning casually against the wall as he stared down at her.

She was currently sat on the staircase of the Astronomy Tower, a book lay open in her lap and her chin was propped up by her hands, her eyes locked on the words before her.

"This is the first stop of my rounds, it is after curfew," he replied.

"Going to give me detention?"

Tom stared down at her, his eyes observing her carefully, the firelight of the torches lining the stone walls casting shadows across her pale face. He hadn't expected to see her so soon after he'd put his plan into motion. It was only fifteen minutes ago he'd sent a letter with the use of Malfoy's owl and he wasn't expecting a reply for at least two days. He knew he had to be patient if he was to get what he wanted, and he wanted _her_.

And whilst he hadn't expected to see her so soon, especially giving that he knew she was avoiding him, (and he wouldn't put it past her to know his routine just as he knew hers) he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass.

"Why? Have you done something that might be deemed detention worthy?" He arched an eyebrow.

"You have no idea," she muttered, still refusing to lift her gaze from her book and with a wriggle of her fingers, the page turned itself.

Whilst, not a difficult spell, it was done wandlessly and he'd barely heard her mutter an incantation, not actually being certain that she did, and that made it all the more impressive. Wandless and non-verbal magic were highly difficult, something he knew from experience. Being reminded that he'd seen her use such magics before, particularly in a duel against him, his want for her only increased. She was one of the most powerful, if not, _the_ most powerful witch he'd ever met. And she'd only grow more so as she aged and her experience and knowledge grew. He had to have her.

"Very well," he replied, "Stay out of trouble, Nilrem," he warned, pushing away from the wall, turning and descending the staircase, leaving her to her reading.

He felt her confused stare locked on his back until he disappeared from her view.

Tom's mouth twitched into a smirk. Nilrem had expected him to bust her, dock house points, give her detention and send her marching back to her dorm. He'd done the exact opposite in leaving her to her own devices.

~000~000~000~

**Saturday 4th November 1994**

He'd stumbled upon her in the library by accident.

He'd been leaving the Restricted Section after growing bored of the texts and tomes it held. After witnessing Nilrem's _risqué_ book purchases in Diagon Alley, he begrudgingly admitted that none of the titles held at Hogwarts were even as remotely interesting as the ones she'd purchased and he found himself jealous. A feeling he hated and something he was slowly becoming accustomed to since meeting her. He promised himself he'd find a way to get his hands on those books, no matter if he had to charm her into giving him them or stealing them from her dorm, knowing the latter was the most likely option giving that she didn't fall for the charming Head Boy visage everyone else did.

Making his way through the maze of books, he'd caught sight of her unruly hair being piled atop her head as she was squirrelled away in a little reading nook, her nose buried in a book with approximately ten books piled high beside her and seven books piled on the floor by her feet.

That morning he hadn't seen her in the great hall for breakfast or lunch, and admittedly, that worried him, almost as much as it angered him that she wasn't taking care of herself. Scowling, he'd left the library and headed for the kitchens, any student that crossed his path giving him a wide berth. Whilst it was easy to maintain a calm, even polite expression, and it was easy to control his magic, forcing the very essence, aura of his magic to remain calm was much harder.

After convincing one of the elves to do as he wished, he left the kitchens victorious and returned to the library, not being surprised when Nilrem was right where he'd left her, her nose still buried in a book and being oblivious to her surroundings.

He approached her silently but she knew he was there, as evidenced in the way she lifted her gaze and looked at him over the top of her book before lowering her eyes once more, unconcerned.

The action had only taken a second or two but it was enough time for him to see her tired expression and the bruises beneath her eyes, her glasses magnifying them.

She was starving herself _and_ not sleeping? Tom had never been so furious, annoyed and disappointed. A witch as powerful as her should be taking better care of herself.

"Yes, Riddle?" She muttered.

His mask remained calm and polite but his magic did not, his anger making itself known as it swarmed around her. He wasn't sure if he was annoyed or impressed that she didn't falter.

"And what has you so angry this day?" She asked. "Did Avery hex himself? Dolohov almost get caught practising an Unforgivable? Selwyn stake her claim on you and frighten off all the other witches?"

"You were not present for breakfast or lunch," he bit out, struggling to remain calm.

She lifted her gaze, her brow furrowed and her head tipping slightly in confusion. "Excuse me? Breakfast on a weekend is served until eleven, and I have every intention of popping by for a spot of tea and toast once I have finished reading this chapter."

His gaze locked on hers and understanding that she was genuinely confused, he realised that she hadn't the foggiest of the time of day or that she'd missed both meals. It hadn't been intentional, she'd simply had her nose buried in her books for longer than she'd realised. She wasn't deliberately starving herself but this meant she needed protecting not just from any of who might wish them both harm, but from herself, too. _Fabulous_. That just made his life twice as difficult, but with her power and abilities, she was worth it.

Taking a breath and reigning in his magic, he arched an eyebrow, his mouth twitching in amusement.

"Nilrem, it has long since past three o'clock in the afternoon. How long have you been here?"

"What?" Her voice rose a little. "No, it's not, you're lying to me."

"What reason do I have for lying about the time of day?" He rolled his eyes.

She lowered her book to her lap and her eyes darted towards the nearest window, the afternoon light shining onto the floor.

"I..." She shook her head, her eyes darting back to him. "I hadn't realised so much time had passed," she responded.

"How long have you been here?" He repeated.

"I arrived a little after six, this morning."

He arched an eyebrow. He had thought he was an early riser. Whilst he did wake earlier than most on a weekday, he allowed himself an extra hour in bed every Saturday and Sunday morning, even if was awake and he simply read a book before rising and readying for the day.

"The library doesn't open until eight on a weekend," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not difficult to slip through the wards, Riddle, as I'm sure you know."

He did, but he saw no point in voicing it. Instead, he drew his hand from behind his back, taking amusement in the way Nilrem blinked in surprise at the sight of a plate sitting a sandwich and a slice of apple pie. He remembered her trying to bribe him with pie during their trip to Diagon Alley, but most importantly, she'd admitted to being easily bribed so long as it was the correct food item. He just had to find what that was and he was certain she'd be putty in his hands.

"What is that?" She asked, eyeing it warily.

"Food, evidently. You need to eat," he said simply, pressing the plate into her hand before she could argue. "I haven't altered or poisoned it, a house-elf prepared it and the pie is what was leftover from lunch. Eat it, Nilrem, all of it."

Her brow furrowed once more in confusion, her eyes lifting from the plate in her hand and to him, something flashing across her face before he had the chance to name it.

"Food isn't allowed in the library."

He snorted. "As if you haven't broken the rules before?" He arched an eyebrow. "I can name a dozen transgressions that come to mind, eating in the library is the least offensive. I expect to see you present at dinner this evening, if not, I shall be forced to search for you and I promise, I will not be in a pleasant mood."

With that, he spun on his heel and walked away, leaving her staring after him in confusion and surprise.

He was two for two.

~000~000~000~

**Sunday 5th November 1994**

"What do you want Riddle?" Nilrem asked, eyeing him warily over the top of her book.

Leaning against the wall and shrugging his shoulders casually as he folded his arms over his chest, he looked down at her as she perched on the steps of a little known staircase that was a shortcut that led from the fifth floor to the library on the third floor.

He hadn't expected to find her there, he was simply trying to cut his commute time and he didn't bother acting surprised that she knew of the staircase, giving that he knew only a handful of people did. If she was surprised that he knew of it, she didn't show it, but he wouldn't be surprised if she was avoiding the library as a way of avoiding him and his force-feeding the day before.

"I had no intention of running into you," he lied. He _was_ searching for her. "You weren't at breakfast this morning."

She sighed, lowered her book to her lap and then buried her face in her hands.

"I did it again, didn't I?" She mumbled, her voice muffled by her hands.

"You did," he confirmed.

It seemed she made a habit of losing track of time and skipping meals and if she did it again, he was going to buy her a damn watch and charm it to shock her with a Stinging Hex whenever mealtimes approached. Weekdays weren't the issue as she had classes to keep her on schedule, but weekends were a different matter.

"When is lunch?" She asked.

"In two hours," he answered. Whilst breakfast was served until eleven on weekends, lunch was served at one o'clock, allowing the elves time to prepare and ready the great hall.

"Two hours? Okay, two hours, I'll remember," she said to herself, lifting her face from her hands and nodding.

He rolled his eyes; he was certain she wouldn't.

Digging his hand into his robe pocket, he drew back with a small paper bag and silently dropped it into her lap atop her book.

Her eyes darting between him and her lap, curiosity got the better of her and she reached for the paper bag and peered inside, spying a number of chocoballs and a bar of dark wizochoc.

Lifting her gaze to him, she arched a questioning eyebrow.

"You need to keep your sugar levels up," he explained. "I have seen many find themselves in the hospital wing during exam season, for the very same reason."

"And you just happen to carry chocolate around in your robe pocket? Does the terrifying Mr. Riddle, have a sweet tooth?" Her mouth twitched.

He shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned. "I am human, I am susceptible to guilty pleasures as is any other."

"And chocolate is yours?"

"Dark chocolate," he corrected. She rolled her eyes. "And what is yours?" He asked innocently. She looked at him suspiciously. "You now know mine, it only seems fair that I know yours," he argued.

"You see, the difference between you and me is that I won't use your guilty pleasure against you."

"Hmmm, and how would I be able to use yours against you, exactly?" He arched an eyebrow.

Her eyes darting between him and the chocolate he'd given her, _his_ chocolate and the last of his stores, he might add, she nibbled at her lip in thought and he'd be lying if he said his eyes didn't move to watch the action.

She released a sigh of defeat and pushed her glasses further up her nose before she looked to him. "That depends on what you wish to know. Meal? Dessert? Beverage? Confectionary?"

He hadn't expected her to have so many, if he was honest.

"All of them."

"No, choose one and only one," she replied.

She slipped the paper bag into her robe pocket, snapped her book shut and held it against her chest as she stood to her feet. With her being stood several steps above him, she stared down at him, chocolate orbs meeting blue. They had been stood closer and pressed closer together before and more than once, but now, it was now that he realised her eyes were the colour of his favourite sweet treat. How hadn't he noticed that before?

"Confectionary," he chose. With Honeydukes being located in Hogsmeade, it would be easy for him to get his hands on whatever he needed.

"Sugar Quills," she answered, pulling her eyes from him, descending the staircase and stepping around him, leaving him staring after her.

Something so innocently divulged would be her downfall. Or perhaps, it would be his.

~000~000~000~

**Monday 6th November 1994**

"Don't, Riddle," muttered Nilrem, "I'm not in the mood for an argument or disagreement."

Tom stared down at her, his brow furrowing. He did _not_ like what he saw. He was doing his rounds of the castle and as he neared the dungeons, he would soon be finished with patrols for the night.

Something had been off with Nilrem all day. Whilst she'd attended both breakfast and lunch (cautiously examining her food and drink as had become routine for her since the night of the Halloween Ball) and she attended all of her classes, something about her was different.

Whilst she continued to ignore him and his attempts to annoy her during their shared classes, she was... Quiet. She barely spoke and she didn't raise her hand to answer questions or offer her opinions during class discussions, and in all honesty, it worried him and he wasn't the only one; he'd seen the glances their professors had sent Nilrem's way. She hadn't attended dinner and he'd sent his fellow Slytherins in search of her but they'd returned to the common room without news of her whereabouts before they'd quickly made themselves scarce under his less than pleased expression.

As he left for his patrols of the castle, docking house points and dishing out detentions when necessary, he hadn't expected to find Nilrem in a little-used stairway close by the dungeons. Any other night he wouldn't have bothered to check it, knowing few knew of its existence, but that night, he allowed his magic to guide him and it had led him straight to her, and he made a mental note to later examine the action and the outcome.

As he observed her, she sat on the staircase, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms folded around her legs and hands clasped together. Her chin rest atop her knees, her hair piled high atop her head and her glasses purchased the tip of her nose, looking in danger of falling off. But none of that was what had him staring. It was her expression. She was sad and the redness of her eyes evidenced that she'd been crying.

Clearing his throat, he stood taller and said, "It's past curfew, Nilrem. I allowed you one reprieve but this time I have to issue a detention."

He'd been expecting her to turn her gaze to him, her eyes blazing with fury and protest as she insulted and argued with him. She didn't. It was as if all the fight had left her as she shrugged her shoulders uselessly, her eyes locked on a stop on the wall behind him.

"I don't care, Riddle. Leave me alone." It was spoken softly but there was no emotion behind it.

Frowning and grimacing when concern flittered in his stomach, he moved until he took a seat on the staircase beside her, his shoulder touching hers and his leg pressed against her arm that was folded around her legs.

"What's bothering you?" He pressed.

"Nothing," she lied.

He scoffed. "Don't be stupid, we both know you're anything but, and give me the same courtesy. We're the smartest people in this godforsaken place and that's including the professors. You've been avoiding me since Slughorn's party, more so than usual, but you haven't been yourself for the last few days..."

"Don't presume you know me, Riddle," she interrupted.

"I know you more than most," he argued.

"And don't presume my 'change' in behaviour is your doing," she continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"Isn't it?" He arched an eyebrow. "We both know there's something between us. I've seen the way you react to me and you're only kidding yourself by denying it."

She resolutely kept her gaze forward and ignored him.

"So, if your current mood isn't my doing, what is? I can _see_ you've been crying," he told her, feeling her body stiffen beside him. "Are you finding it difficult to contend with the other witches in the castle? All it will take is one warning from me and..."

"Riddle," she snapped, her head turning and her eyes finally locking on his, annoyance and fire flashing in her orbs. He'd never before noticed that they looked like molten pools of chocolate when she was angry. "I assure you, I can handle a few simpering witches. Contrary to your belief, my life does not revolve around you. My behaviour or current mood has nothing to do with you."

He blinked, observing her carefully, being surprised to find that he wasn't annoyed or angry for her daring to speak to him in such a way. He was just relieved that she still had that fight in her.

"If I am not the cause then what is?" He probed.

"That's none of your business," she glared at him, her head turning away from him and her eyes darting back to that spot on the wall.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me," he argued.

"Can't you just leave me to wallow in peace?"

"So you admit you're wallowing?" He smirked.

She briefly speared him with a fiery glare before her eyes refocused on the wall opposite them, silence surrounding them, the only sound being that of their breathing. He wasn't sure how long had passed but he was surprised by the words that left her mouth.

"It's my mother's birthday today," she whispered.

"And?" He replied, arching an eyebrow.

"She's dead, Riddle," she responded flatly.

He winced. He'd forgotten about that. She was murdered by Grindelwald's men in order to get to her father, and he'd followed the same fate, leaving her an orphan. Just like him.

"Sorry," he apologised, pushing as much emotion as he was capable of into his apology.

She shrugged her shoulders. "You're not the one that killed her."

"Do you know who is responsible?" He asked curiously.

"Yes, and they have been taken care of."

He arched an eyebrow but she didn't elaborate further.

"You miss her," he remarked.

"I miss her," she agreed. "We might not have been as close as most girls are with their mothers, mostly due to her being a Muggle. She never understood me, my magic or the world I belong to, she always struggled to find peace with my magical abilities, but I know she tried. She tried her hardest right up until the day I lost her."

"And how long has it been?"

"Too long," she muttered, silence falling around them. As the minutes ticked away and it grew later into the night, she gave a sudden sigh before unfolding her arms from her legs and rising to her feet. "Good night, Riddle," she spoke, descending the staircase and disappearing from view.

At least she was no longer ignoring him.

~000~000~000~

**Tuesday 7th November 1994**

The chair across from him scrapped over the stone floor and he lifted his gaze, his expression one of annoyance as he prepared to reprimand the one who dared to interrupt him during his study period, only that annoyance faded at that sight of Nilrem, as she unceremoniously and without invitation, took the seat opposite him at the table.

There weren't many currently occupying the library given that the majority of the students were in their classes, but there were a few such as himself and Nilrem who had a study period on that day and at that time.

As she made herself comfortable, she clasped her hands together and laid her forearms against the surface of the table, her eyes curiously scanning the open textbooks that surrounded him and his parchment filled with his neat scribble. Setting his quill down, he leaned back into his chair and folded his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow, briefly noting that she didn't look as tired as she once did. He also knew from the reports of his fellow Slytherins that she appeared to have reverted back to her normal behaviour of answering questions in class and joining in with debates and discussions. Lunch had not long since ended and he'd yet to have a shared class with her that day, not until after his current study period.

"Yes, Nilrem?"

She looked to him, her eyes examining him, searching for something and he didn't know what but he assumed she found it giving that she nodded to herself.

"Thank you."

"Excuse me?" He said in surprise. That was not something he'd been expecting.

"Thank you," she repeated.

"For?" He prompted.

She locked gazes with him but rather than answering, she unclasped her hands and leaned down the side of her chair before sitting straight and setting a book on the table before her, one he assumed she'd removed from her satchel. She darted a glance around them, noting the lack of witnesses before she pushed the book over to him.

Holding her gaze, he unfolded his arms, sat tall and reached for it, a hiss of pain falling from his mouth as he drew his hand back, pulling his gaze from her and to his hand and seeing the pinky-redness of the pads of his fingers, heat emitting from them before it slowly cooled and the redness vanished to nothing. Darting his eyes back to her, he glared at her smirk and opened his mouth to snap out an insult, only she reached out and pressed her hand, palm flat, against the book cover.

Frowning at her calm expression and apparent absence of pain, he reached for the book and made to mimic her actions, only his fingers had barely skimmed the cover before he was hissing in pain and drawing his hand back once more, his eyes darting between his hand, her smirk and her unharmed hand still resting against the book cover.

Lifting her index finger and tapping it against the book cover, she said, "The title, Riddle."

Glaring at her, he lowered his gaze, feeling his annoyance wash away.

_The Darkest Curses in History, Illegal, Archaic and Unforgivable._

It was one of the titles she'd purchased from Flourish and Blotts, one of the books he'd been most interested in.

Lifting his eyes to her, he lowered his no longer stinging or injured hand to the table, noting that hers still sat atop the book, unharmed.

"The reason this book is illegal, is not only due to its 'dark' content, but also the fact that it was known to harm any that touch it and curse any who opened it. I admit it, it did take me two days to remove the curse, far longer than I'd have liked but you'll have to forgive me as I've been quite distracted lately. Anyhow, as I'm certain you've now figured out, I removed the curse from the book only to fit it with my own. Only I can touch it without injury."

He watched her silently, admitting that was quite impressive.

"I have seen you skulking about the library as of late, no doubt being bored of the children's books in the Restricted Section once I opened your eyes to the real wealth of books out in the world. And giving that you did help me, likely unknowingly, I thought it best I repay you in kind."

"And?" He arched an eyebrow, already having a feeling he knew what her next words would be.

Her mouth twitched into a smirk and she tipped her head, lightly circling the pad of her index finger over the book's cover as she propped her head up with her other hand, her elbow resting atop the table.

"I offer you a challenge. Should you remove the curse protecting the book, I will allow you to read it. However, upon the removal or breaking of the curse, you must return it to me immediately."

"And if I don't?" He challenged.

"Did you really think it would be that easy? What? Is this a challenge for Lestrange?"

His mouth twitched, recognising the compliment. He was smarter than Lestrange, than everyone in the castle bar her, and she'd deliberately presented him a challenge, _created_ a challenge, only those as intelligent as him and her, would be able to complete.

"Upon the removal or breaking of the curse, whilst you will be able to open the book you will not be able to read the contents."

"A simple Translator Charm would fix that," he replied.

Her smirk widened. "Come now, Riddle. Did you not say we were the smartest in the castle but a few days ago? A Translator Charm will be ineffective, as will _all_ magic and spells. You see, I have equipped each chapter of this book to be illegible until a password is spoken aloud, and that password is, of course, voice-activated and tailored to my voice only. And each chapter has a different password."

That was damn clever, he admitted.

"A completely random password, might I add. One that you will never be able to guess, even if you were able to figure out a way around the voice activation. Once you have read that chapter and should you wish to read another, I will equip the book with a curse more difficult to break than the previous one, and the game continues. And just to make things more interesting, what say we add a time limit?"

"A time limit?"

"Hmmm," she hummed, "Say, a week? You have one week to complete the first task. Should you fail, you _never_ see this book again. Should you fail, I'll burn it to ashes for you to never be able to read."

"You would never destroy such a coveted text. It's worth a fortune," he argued.

She smiled at him in a way that reminded him of a shark, a predator. "I am not motivated by wealth, Riddle. I am motivated by knowledge and I have read this book twice, I have memorised all of the knowledge it contains and destroying it would have no effect on me, you, however... So, do you accept?"

"Yes," he answered without pause.

He loved a challenge and the magic and knowledge he learned in school, from the professors, was hardly that. If it were allowed and seven years of education wasn't required, nor was there a restriction of magic for those underage, he'd have graduated Hogwarts years ago. If there was one person who could give him a challenge, something to test his limitations and get the gears of his mind turning, it was Nilrem.

"Lovely," she smiled, sliding the book across the table until it sat closer to him but he didn't touch it this time. "Good luck, Riddle, and happy curse-breaking."

She lifted her satchel from the ground and hooked it over her shoulder before standing, pushing the chair beneath the table and turning, making to leave the library.

"Aren't you going to give me a hint?"

She paused, turning to face him, her mouth twitching. "A hint, Riddle? I thought you were better than that."

He stiffened slightly and narrowed his eyes. "You were quite vague," he protested. "You know as well as I how many curses there are in existence, ranging from elemental to physical to psychological and anywhere in between. It is hardly fair to give me a time limit of one week when it is quite possible it will take me that long to identify the _type_ of curse."

"I suppose," she sighed in defeat, pouting a little. "Very well, I have not used any type or form of blood curses. Better?"

"That narrows it down," he offered with a tip of his head.

"Don't get yourself killed," she said lightly before turning and walking off, Tom's eyes locked on her back until she disappeared from view and then his gaze lowered to the book before him, his eyes gleaming.

She was sure he wouldn't be able to break her curse but he had every intention of proving her wrong. Of proving that he was worthy of having her as both an alley, and his.

~000~000~000~

**Friday 10th November 1994**

After searching for Nilrem for almost an hour, (something that would've infuriated him if he currently wasn't in such a good mood) he finally found her wandering down the fourth floor corridor, her nose buried in a book.

Smirking to himself, he ducked into an alcove and waited for her to draw closer before he darted his arm out, his hand snagging her wrist and he tugged, a shriek of surprise falling from her lips, her book falling to the ground and her body falling into the alcove, Tom pressing her against the wall and keeping her caged in with his body.

"Damn it, Riddle, you scared the shit out of me," growled Nilrem.

He arched an eyebrow before casting a _Lumos_ , lighting the dark alcove with a soft white glow, seeing Nilrem glaring up at him.

"How did you know it was me?"

"No one else would be stupid enough to do such a thing to me and your minions are too scared of me to dare lay a hand on me."

He wasn't certain if he should be amused or offended.

"Do you have any idea what I could've done to you? You've no doubt heard the rumours of my past, of my having to fight to stay alive whilst my father and I were running from Grindelwald. What would possibly make you think it was a good idea to ambush me in such a way? I could've killed you!" She snapped.

"Oh?"

"Oh," she repeated and feeling a sharp stabbing in his stomach, he lowered his gaze, seeing that she had her wand pressed against him threateningly.

He hadn't realised or noticed her pulling her wand. He was impressed. Even being taken off guard she'd still managed to draw her wand.

"I assume there is a reason for this," she said, gesturing between them with a wave of her other hand, refusing to lower her wand or remove it from his stomach.

"Yes," he nodded, reaching down into his school bag and removing her no longer cursed book, holding it out to her smugly. "I've completed your challenge."

She'd given him a week to remove or break the curse, but wanting to prove himself and his intelligence, he'd been determined to do it in only one day, especially since she'd admitted it had taken her two days to remove the initial curse. Unfortunately, Nilrem was a lot smarter than he'd ever realised, and it had taken him three days. When he'd finally identified the curse, it being easier than he'd imagined it would be, he'd felt rather pleased with himself but before a smirk could pull at his mouth, he'd reached for the book only to receive a shock from the damn thing. She'd led him to believe she'd only used one curse on the book when in reality, she'd layered a _dozen_ or so different cursers, one on top of the other, and each one being harder to break than the next.

Not only was it incredibly hard, and it took skill, focus and magical ability to do such a thing, but it required incredible intelligence, and whilst he'd been annoyed with her, he was impressed, too. More than he'd ever been by her.

"Twelve curses layered on top of one another?" He arched an eyebrow.

She smiled proudly and tipped her head. "What? Was it too easy?" She asked.

Merlin, was this witch unlike any he'd ever met before.

"You are aware of how incredibly difficult it is to do such a thing, yes?"

"I should hope so seeing as I did it," she shrugged.

She reached for the book, still not relenting with her wand being pressed against his stomach, and as she took the book from him, she hummed thoughtfully.

"Yes?" He pressed.

"If I'm honest, I'm surprised you didn't fit the book with a curse of your own that would cause me harm, as mine did for you. You know, as a little payback or maybe for a laugh?"

"You expect me to do such a thing?" He replied. Honestly, the thought hadn't crossed his mind but now he wished it had.

"Yes," she said simply and he snorted. "I certainly would have but I've got a bit of a vengeful streak," she shrugged.

"So I've seen," he muttered, his eyes darkening as he stepped closer to her, his magic swarming her as he was reminded of that day she'd tortured Carrow and Macmillan.

"Anyway," she cleared her throat, "Pick a number between one and one hundred," she instructed.

"Why?"

"There are one hundred curses detailed in this book, which means there are one hundred sections or chapters, whichever you prefer to call it. Reading the book from start to finish is a little boring, so, pick a number."

He tipped his head slightly. "Fifty-seven."

Her brow furrowed in thought before a laugh left her. "Oh, good choice, Riddle, you are in for a treat," she promised, no doubt recalling the curse that was detailed in chapter fifty-seven. "Snowdrop," she said, a blue glow surrounding the book before it faded to nothing.

Tom's eyes gleamed as he took the book from her, slipping it into his school bag and then he stepped back.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Nilrem."

And then without a word, he reached into his pocket, removed a small paper bag, deposited it into her hands and slipped out of the alcove, feeling her eyes darting between him and the sugar quills he'd gifted her.

~000~000~000~

**Saturday 11th November 1994**

Dinner hadn't long since found its end and after Nilrem hadn't attended despite his warning earlier in the day that he expected her to, he assumed she'd lost track of time yet again as she had her nose buried in a book, something he knew as he'd found her in the library after missing both breakfast and lunch that day. Heading to the library with the intention of berating her before dragging her to the kitchens to force-feed her any leftovers, Tom made his way through the castle, only, when he reached the library with hand poised, ready to pull the door open and step inside, he paused.

His brow furrowed in confusion when he felt an insistent tugging in his stomach and without realising it, he'd stepped away from the library and was heading back down the corridors, having no idea where it was he was going but his feet carried him anyway. Before he knew it, he'd travelled from the third floor to the sixth floor, barely being able to remember how he'd gotten there and as he pondered the strange event, his hearing picked up on the sound of hissed words and what was unmistakeably magic colliding with stone walls.

Not liking the way the tugging in his stomach grew in intensity, he drew his own wand, straightened his posture and quickened his steps. As he rounded the corner, it leading to a dead end, he found himself halting, his eyes widening a fraction as fury and concern swirled in his stomach.

Nilrem stood with her back pressed against the wall, her glasses perched on her nose with the right lens cracked, her hair surrounded her in a wild, bushy mass of tangled curls, her hair tie lay on the ground, forgotten, along with her book and robes. Her usually pristine uniform was askew and rumbled and her tie loosened at the neck. There was a visible tear in her shirt beneath her jumper and the left sleeve was torn from the shoulder seam. A burn sat against her right shin, blood bled through her right upper arm, a dark wet stain bringing notice to the injury. A small cut split her left cheek as it dribbles blood and a larger wound sat above her right eye, blood flowing down her face and into her eye, blurring her vision. Her hand was pressed against her left side, indicating an injury despite there being no evidence through blood or torn clothing, and she panted in exertion, a shield held firmly in place.

He knew Nilrem was a formidable witch in a duel and as far as he could remember, she was the only one to throw a curse, spell or hex that landed its mark, injuring him. He knew she could out-duel anyone but him in the castle, but that was one on one. Currently, she was shielding against _five_ attackers whilst she was already injured and no doubt exhausted, it magically draining her.

He recognised her attackers despite their backs facing him, and all of them but one were Slytherins.

Flora Snyde, sixth year. Azela Talbot, seventh year. Tabitha Rowle, seventh year. Ophelia Flint, seventh year. And finally, Iris Snowden, sixth year and the only Ravenclaw of the group.

His grip tightening on his wand, his magic broke free, swarming the dead-end corridor until the air grew thick and tense and it was hard to breathe. It was cold and angry.

Nilrem's eyes snapped to him, the anger unsuccessfully hidden and he knew that if she wished to, she could cause some serious damage, damage that would see her expelled from Hogwarts, which was one of the reasons she was on the defence, not the offence. She was protecting her attackers from herself. Something he found impressive as it required a lot of self-control, and stupid as she was clearly more powerful than the five witches before her combined.

"What is going on here?" Tom said, his voice calm and soft, cutting through the hissing of the witches' hexes and curses. All of them childish, he noted with disdain. Something a third year and below might easily cast.

On cue, their incantations stopped and they fell silent, their bodies visibly stiffening and startling at the same time. They slowly twisted to look behind them, their wands held steady and Nilrem's shield remained firmly in place, her expression guarded as her eyes darted between him and the five witches.

"Tom..." Started Ophelia Flint but his darkening gaze cut to her, his expression silencing her.

Fear flooded her expression and he saw her wand arm shake. _Good_ , he thought with a smirk.

"Silence," he ordered, his eyes snapping to Tabitha Rowle, her words dying on her tongue as she swallowed and took a step back from him. "Meet me at the common room, do not move until I return."

"But, Tom..." Pouted Azela Talbot.

"Go now!" He snapped, struggling to keep his magic from further breaking free.

The five witches startled with little squeaks of fear before they all scurried away and down the corridor, not daring to look back at him. As they left, he noted they were each sporting injuries of their own, Tom recognising one or two as a result of Hermione's handiwork and the others were likely caused by rebounding hexes and curses, Hermione's shield being too powerful to penetrate with their weak and childish spellwork. Hermione's shields were capable of standing against the majority of the spellwork in his armoury. And knowing that, he estimated that Hermione's current injuries were caused when she hadn't been protected by a shield, leading him to believe she was ambushed.

After ensuring that they'd left and they weren't lingering nearby to spy on them, Tom took a breath and slowly approached Nilrem, seeing she was eyeing him warily and she'd yet to drop her shield. Realising that she'd picked up on the cold and angry magical aura swarming the small corridor, and with the five witches gone and Nilrem no longer having to defend herself, it was enough to calm the rage that fuelled him and he drew his magic back to him, seeing Nilrem slump against the wall.

"Lower your shield, Nilrem," he sighed, stopping before her with her shield preventing him from moving closer or being able to reach out and touch her.

"Are you going to hoy a curse at me if I do?"

"No," his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would I do that?"

"I landed an injury on each of them, some of them twice. I spilled their blood, _Pure_ blood."

He rolled his eyes. "You were defending yourself, were you not?"

"How did you know?"

"I know you. You never instigate the fight or duel, you wait for your opponent to do so first, that way it's self-defence. Given the time and that you missed dinner, I'm going to assume you had your nose stuck in a book when walking down the corridor, and the only reason for you being on the sixth floor is that you've just come from the seventh floor, so, you were in the Room of Requirements, correct? Whilst you were otherwise distracted, you were ambushed, which accounts for your injuries as I know from experience your shields can withstand much force."

She blinked in surprise and slowly nodded, lowering her shield and the moment she did so, he stepped forward. She tilted her head back against the wall to keep eye contact with him and his hand came up, hovering by her cheek, hesitating. Shaking his head, his hand pressed against her skin, his thumb swiping over the cut on her cheek and wiping away the blood, Hermione simultaneous wincing against the pain and her eyes fluttering closed at his warm touch.

When his hand moved from her cheek and to the larger wound above her eye, she hissed out a breath when his thumb swiped over the wound, ridding most of the blood that was dripping down her face and into her stinging eye. His eyes lowered to her side questioningly.

"I was hit from behind," she admitted in a mutter, embarrassed, he realised. "I stumbled forward and straight into the window ledge before they backed me into this corridor, a dead-end." Her gaze lowered to her jumper, seeing the damage done. "Damn," she grumbled, "This is cashmere. I'm never going to get the blood out. Do you have any idea how much this cost? One jumper cost more than my entire wardrobe."

"I promise, Hermione..." Her eyes snapped to him in surprise at the use of her given name. "They _will_ pay."

"No, Riddle, I can... You know what? I don't have the energy to fight and argue with you," she sighed.

"Duelling that many opponents can be magically draining, especially when your shields pull at your magical core for power so frequently, _and,_ you've lost blood. You need rest and to be healed. Let's go."

"I'm fine," she waved him off.

Rolling his eyes, he reached out and just as he did the night of the Halloween Ball, he scooped her off her feet and lifted her into his arms, a cry of surprise falling from her as he took off down the corridor.

"Riddle, put me down, I can walk just fine," she protested and wriggled in his hold.

Considering she'd claimed she didn't have the energy to fight with him, she was doing a remarkable job.

"I highly doubt you'll make it to the fourth floor before you collapse from your injuries and magical depletion."

"Riddle, put me down," she ordered, glaring at him. He arched a challenging eyebrow and much to his surprise, she sighed in defeat. "Fine, just stop for a minute, would you? My book and robes are still on the ground. If we wish to keep what happened quiet and away from the other students and professors, we can't be leaving evidence behind."

Realising she was right, he halted in his steps and set her on her feet, watching her carefully as she approached her robes and book and lifted them into her arms, still keeping her grip on her wand. Before he could lift her once more, she used her smaller size to her advantage and despite her injuries, blood loss and exhaustion, she darted around him and took off in a run down the corridor.

Growling in annoyance, he chased after her, his long legs allowing for longer strides and despite her speed, he was able to reach her before she descended the staircase. Snagging her around the wrist, he tugged her to a stop and before she could argue or hex him, he swooped down and lifted her, depositing her over his shoulder like some conquering caveman carrying his bride.

"Put me down," she shrieked.

He smirked in amusement when he deliberately loosened his grip so she slipped a little further down his back and she cried out, her arms folding around his waist, pressing against his stomach and gripping tightly, Tom feeling her book and robes bunched up and pressed in-between them and he looked down, spying her wand still gripped in her hand.

"I swear, Riddle, I'm going to kill you! I'm going to murder you in your sleep!" She growled.

"Is that any way to repay the wizard that saved you? That's what? Twice now?" He asked innocently.

"You didn't _save_ me," she protested. "They would've tired or gotten bored eventually and then I would've made a run for it."

"Hmmm," he hummed as though he didn't believe her. "And why did you not deal with them as I know you are more than capable of doing?"

"I didn't want to harm them. They're Purebloods; they'd have tattled on me and it's their word against mine. We both know that the Board of Governor's would take their side over mine, no matter if they were the ones to attack me unprovoked and in an ambush. With you, I know you're more than capable of handling whatever I throw your way, whether it be a childish Tickling Charm or a Deadly Curse."

His mouth twitched into a smirk at her compliment.

"Just as I know you'll only reciprocate in kind and you won't tattle on me to Dippet like a bloody baby, because I know you enjoy our duels. I'm the only one that's not afraid of you and that challenges you. Now, put me down, I'm going dizzy."

"From a lack of blood loss," he said innocently, "It's best you remain where you are so you don't faint."

"I'm dizzy because I'm upside down and all the blood in my body is rushing to my brain, you pillock."

"Charming," he scoffed.

"I swear, I'm going to hex your arse."

"Oh, having a nice stare, are we?" He chirped.

"No!" She growled. "Not there's anything to see, your arse is as flat as a sheet of parchment," she said meanly.

He chuckled. "Oh, Nilrem, I do love our chats. And how would you know such a thing if you haven't snuck a glance?"

"Rumours," she quipped easily. "Slytherin Sex God my right foot," she sneered.

His mouth twitched into a smirk.

"Jealous?"

"Of all the women that have the most un-pleasurable night of their lives? No, why would I be? If I were them, I'd _Obliviate_ myself so I'd never have to remember it."

"You're such a charmer," he deadpanned.

"Thank you, it's my best quality. Now, put me down."

"No,"

"God, you're infuriating," she snarled. "If you insist on manhandling me like a barbarian, I insist that you ensure we are not seen by anyone and that you don't flash my arse to any who might see."

His mouth twitched in amusement and he briefly toyed with the idea of deliberately taking the busier corridors before deciding against it. He was certain she was ambushed because of _him_ and out of jealousy. He didn't want to give anyone reason to harm her again, at least not until she agreed to be his. Currently, he knew it was all speculation that there might have been something between them given his interest in her.

As he reached the fourth floor, he heard male voices approaching but as they grew closer he recognised them. His eyes darting to Nilrem's skirt, he saw that the hem brushed the backs of her thighs and not wishing to show any part of her to another's eyes when she belonged to him, (despite not yet admitting it) he slipped his hand higher up the back of her leg.

"What are you doing?!" She squeaked in surprise.

He snorted. "I hear voices, you wished for no one to peak beneath your skirt, did you not?" He replied knowingly, his fingers stretching up and curling around the hem of her skirt, tugging it down and keeping it in place.

"Voices? Put me down!"

"Relax, it's only Malfoy and Dolohov," he rolled his eyes.

"What!" She shrieked. "That's even worse. Put me down, it's so embarrassing."

"Why? What we do in our free time is none of their concern," he shrugged, hearing her cry out and her grip on him tightening when it shifted her positioning.

" _We_? _Our_?" She spluttered. "We are _not_ together and I am _not_ yours," she protested.

" _Yet_ , but you will be," he said confidently.

"Put me down. I can walk and I don't need your help. I'm more than capable of healing myself, I'm all but a bloody qualified medi-witch given my history."

"Malfoy, Dolohov," Tom greeted cheerfully, smiling at his fellow Slytherins.

They both halted in their steps, their heads turning towards him and their eyes widening and mouths parting at the sight of him approaching, Nilrem thrown over his shoulder and growling insults and orders that he 'put her down' whilst he smiled. He was certain they'd never seen such a strange sight, particularly when it wasn't often he smiled. They were all used to his polite and fake, friendly smiles he gave the public to charm and lure them to him, not the smile he was currently sporting.

"How are you this evening?" He asked, tipping his head slightly.

"Who gives a toss? Put me down, Riddle!" Snapped Nilrem.

"Hush you," he said, playfully swatting her on the arse with his free hand.

She gasped in outrage. "Put me down you barbarian! How dare you touch me without my leave to do so?"

"But Love, you weren't complaining an hour ago."

Malfoy spluttered and Dolohov looked about ready to pass out at both his teasing and the laugh left him at her cry of outrage as she wriggled in his hold.

"I swear, Riddle, I'll make your life miserable," she threatened, "Put. Me. Down."

"There's no need to be embarrassed, we're all adults here."

"Then stop acting like a damn child and put me down."

He sighed sadly. "Why must you deny our love?"

"Love? _Love_? Love! I'm going to murder you. Sleep with one eye open, Riddle, because I swear, you'll never see me coming!"

Sighing once more, he slowly set her on her feet and stepped back from her, smiling at the sight of her face flushed in both fury and the congregation of blood, of her dark eyes dancing with heated flames of rage, of her wild hair surrounding her in a halo of bushy, tangled ringlets, Tom seeing the little zinging sparks of magic in her hair. Oh, she was furious and he _loved_ it.

"If you ever do that again I'll..."

"Oh, you are adorable when you're mad," he interrupted, lightly tapping her on the nose with his finger as if she were a spitting kitten.

She gritted her teeth and her hands clamped tightly around her robes, book and wand, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"What happened to you?" Dolohov broke their intense stare and they both snapped their eyes to him, the Russian startling slightly and taking a step back.

"Ambushed, attacked, injured, Riddle scared away the witches and then proceeded to manhandle me, _twice_!"

"Ambush?" Malfoy frowned in concern, looking to him, seeing the way the playful expression melted from his face and was replaced with fury.

"Yes, and that reminds me, I have some business to take care of. Malfoy, Dolohov, would you mind escorting _Hermione_ to her dorm and ensure her safety, and then return to the common room soon after?" Tom asked politely but everyone knew it wasn't a request, rather, it was an order.

"I don't need babysitters," she argued.

"No, it's just a precaution. As I've said, you've lost some blood and you're magically depleted after your shields siphoned power from your magical core. I don't want you fainting before you reach your dorm."

"I'm fine," she argued. "And I swear to Merlin himself, if you ever pull a stunt like that again... I'll remove your ability to procreate."

"Oh?" He arched an amused eyebrow, his lack of fear only angering her further, the sparks of magic in her hair growing larger.

"Yes, and I know nine potions, sixteen hexes and thirty-seven curses which all have the ability to do so, and not only is it incredibly painful, but, it has some nasty side effects, too."

"Perhaps you might tell me later," he suggested.

"No," she snapped, her eyes turning to Malfoy and Dolohov, both of them looking horrified by her admittance whilst also staring at her wild, long and magic infested hair. "What are you looking at?" She growled and they both startled from their surprise.

Chuckling, he looked to Malfoy and Dolohov. "You would think that after our time together hidden in..."

Hermione growled at him, a noise he'd link to a feral dog and he wisely chose not to push her further. He was remarkably surprised she hadn't yet hexed him, if he was honest.

"Hermione, _please_ let them escort you. It's for your safety. We don't know if there are any more planned ambushes and you're already injured. It's best not to chance it."

Blinking in surprise and her mouth parting, he gave her his best pleading, puppy dog expression.

"You should bottle that and sell it," she grumbled, folding her arms over her chest in defeat. "Fine," she agreed before turning her eyes to Malfoy and Dolohov, "I swear, if either one of you attempts to carry me in any way, I will curse you bald for a week."

Tom smirked, seeing Dolohov's unconcerned expression and Malfoy's horrified expression, his hands coming up to his head. It was a well-known fact that one didn't get in-between a Malfoy and their hair.

~000~000~000~

The moment Tom stepped through the portrait and into the Slytherin common room, all chatter halted to a sudden stop and silence reigned as eyes darted to him.

His eyes darted about the room, seeing Rosier, Nott, Avery and Lestrange all sat in their usual seats, a chessboard set up on the table and looking to be mid-game. His eyes scanned the remainder of the occupants, spying the four Slytherin witches he had every intention of _speaking_ to, huddled together and being too afraid to meet his gaze.

"Everyone, out, now," he ordered, the common room being cleared in a matter of moments, leaving only nine people in attendance. He felt the confused expressions of his followers and turned his gaze to them. "Not to worry, all will be revealed soon," he promised, before turning his eyes back the four witches as he slowly crossed to his favourite armchair and took a seat. "Come here," he ordered calmly. The four witches whimpered pathetically before scurrying over to him. "Did I say you could sit?" He arched a brow and they all paused before darting back to their feet and stepping away from the couch. "Where is she?" He questioned, alerting to the fact there was someone missing.

"Her common room," stuttered Snyde.

Tom clucked his tongue and clasped his hands together, leaning back into the armchair.

"Did I not say to wait for me here?"

"You did,"

"I did, what?"

"Sir," she corrected.

"Hmm, then why is she not here?"

"She assumed she was to return to her own common room, Sir."

"She did, did she? Well, that must be rectified. Rosier, Lestrange, head to Ravenclaw Tower and fetch back Miss. Snowden, as quickly as possible, if you please. We have some issues that need clearing up."

With nods of their heads, they both stood from their seats and quickly left the common room, silence falling around them. Tom made it a point to dart an unimpressed glance between each of the witches, his mouth twitching into a smirk when they'd whimper or stiffen or flinch back, and he didn't speak until his followers returned with what he'd asked for, and Malfoy and Dolohov happened to arrive at the same time.

"Snowden," he greeted coolly and with a tip of his head, the frightened witch moved to stand in line with the other four. "Malfoy, Dolohov, how is Miss. Nilrem?"

Malfoy snorted and shook his head. "She threatened us with several curses that she swore would put the Cruciatus to shame."

Tom's mouth twitched. That was his witch, he thought proudly.

"We escorted her to Ravenclaw and waited for several minutes after she entered the common room before returning here. I suspect that she will be fine after a little rest. Her injuries looked to be mostly superficial. I am to take it these are the witches you spoke of?"

"Yes," he smiled, his eyes lighting with fury and cruelty. "And now that everyone is here, let's begin. For those of you who are not aware, approximately an hour ago I happened to stumble across Miss. Nilrem and these five lovely witches. Imagine my surprise, when I see her cornered and injured whilst defending against an attack. It later came to my knowledge that as Miss. Nilrem was walking the halls, distracted with her nose in a book, as we are all familiar with, she was ambushed before being backed in a quiet, sparsely used and dead-end corridor," he said lightly, spying his followers darting horrified, worried glances to one another. "Of course, once she was able to raise her shields, their _pathetic_ attempts at magic were unable to penetrate such powerfully cast magic, and she was able to hold them back, though I am not entirely certain how long this lasted before I arrived. Now that Miss. Nilrem's health and safety has been ensured, and I have heard her side of the story, I would like to hear yours. So, who would like to go first?"

The five witches darted glances to one another, remaining silent and lowering their gazes to the ground.

Tom sighed. "Well, that is disappointing, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to resort to such measures, but, here we are."

Tom drew his wand from his robe pocket and casually levelled it towards Rowle and as he opened his mouth to begin muttering an incantation, the witch broke.

"No, please don't!" She begged, tears flooding her eyes. "Please don't hurt us! We were just doing what we were told!"

Tom arched an eyebrow. "Oh, by who?"

"Shut up," Flint whisper-hissed at Rowle. "You know what'll happen to us if we tell."

"And what is that, Miss. Flint?" Asked Tom. Her eyes darted to him fearfully before they lowered to the ground. "Tell me, is there someone you are more afraid of?"

"No,"

"No, what?"

"No, Sir," she muttered.

"Then you must know that I do not like being lied to. If I don't receive the answers I wish, I must warn you that you will not like my response."

"It was Amanda!" Cried Snyde, her body visibly shaking in fear. "Amanda told us to do it! She said you told her that you wanted Nilrem to be taught a lesson for being so disrespectful!"

"Is that so?" He gritted his teeth and his grip tightened on his wand.

The bitch was a giant pain in his arse it was time he dealt with her for good.

"Very well, you may all go, speak of this to no one... But, that does not mean you will escape punishment for what you did. Nilrem is under my protection." They all looked simultaneously relieved but also horrified, and whilst the four Slytherins made for the staircase to their dorm rooms, Snowden made to exit the common room. "Wait," he instructed and they all paused in their steps, turning to look at him. "Miss. Snowden? What are you doing getting involved with Slytherin politics? You are a Ravenclaw, surely you have better things to do than terrorise innocent witches."

Snowden looked about ready to pass out. "Amanda is my cousin, Sir. Defence Against the Dark Arts is my best subject, she believed I might be able to help and asked that I do this favour for her."

"Hmm, and yet, you did not win against Miss. Nilrem when there was _five_ of you. Your only landed hits occurred when her back was turned. I am taking two hundred points from Ravenclaw for duelling outside of the classroom and for harming an unharmed witch. Get out of my sight," he ordered, the witch not needing to be told twice and the portrait slammed shut behind her. "Send Selwyn down here but do not speak of what happened," he said, turning his eyes to the four Slytherin girls and after nodding, they headed up the staircase.

As silence fell, he turned towards his fellow Slytherins, taking in their varied expressions.

Wishing to have a little fun with his followers, he said, "Malfoy, Dolohov, is Miss. Nilrem not adorable when she is angry?"

Malfoy's mouth twitched, Dolohov arched an amused eyebrow and the others spluttered and coughed in surprise.

"Adorable?" Questioned Malfoy. "The word I would use is _terrifying_. She is highly terrifying and no doubt deadly, should she wish it. Her sharp tongue alone..." He shook his head.

"Yes, I was genuinely worried she was going to kill you when you swatted her on the arse," added Dolohov, looking to the others when they had a coughing fit.

"As I said, adorable," replied Tom, tipping his head with a smile playing at his lips.

Avery had turned red in the face, Nott struggled to catch his breath, Lestrange conjured and then filled a glass with water before downing it and Rosier patted himself on the chest as he choked. Now Tom could see why Nilrem loved to annoy him so; it was quite entertaining, and that was when he realised she was rubbing off on him. He could only imagine what would happen when she agreed to be his. The world would be his and he'd have her by his side.

His amusement quickly faded and he moulded his expression into a calm facade when he heard footsteps descending the girl's staircase, his followers following his lead and appearing casual, unconcerned.

"Tom," greeted Amanda Selwyn as she slowly approached, putting a deliberate sway in her hips. "Tabitha said you wished to see me," she smiled, flipped her honey blonde hair over her shoulder and batted her eyes.

"Stop," he commanded. She halted in her steps, her smile falling from her face as she blinked in surprise.

"I have something to ask of you."

"Of course, Tom. You know I'd do anything to make you happy," she smiled a beatific smile, clasping her hands before her and tipping her head slightly.

"I want the truth."

"The truth?" She frowned in confusion.

"Did you gather a group of witches and have them ambush Hermione Nilrem?"

She blinked slowly before nodding confidently, giving him a smile.

"Yes, I have seen how disrespectful she is towards you, and you deserve so much better than that stuck up bitch. Someone had to knock her down a level or two and teach her some manners. I did it for you. Did I impress you, Tom?"

"Impress me?" He gritted her teeth, his jaw ticking.

"Yes, I showed initiative and cunning," she smiled.

Tom took a breath before he stood from the armchair, his magic slowly pouring from him, filling the room until it became suffocating. He slowly approached Selwyn, his expression dark and furious, his eyes flashing with promises of punishment and for each step he took forward, she took one back.

"Tom, you're scaring me," she whispered.

"Good," he replied coldly and before she saw it coming, his hand had wrapped around her throat and he slammed her into the stone wall by the lit fireplace, the dancing flames growing wilder as his magic fed them.

Selwyn cried out in pain and fear, her eyes widening, tears welling and her hands coming up to hold onto his, trying to pull his hand from her but he was too strong.

"What gave you the right to make such a decision?" He asked lowly.

"I did it for you," she cried.

"Don't lie to me," he snarled, lowering his head until his nose almost touched hers. She flinched back and whimpered. "You did it for yourself. You did it because you were jealous of her. And why wouldn't you be? She's incredibly intelligent, she has the favour of her professors, she's been here less than two months and she's tipped to receive Outstandings in _all_ of her classes, all twelve of them. You have to pay others to do your homework for you and you barely pass your classes."

"She doesn't deserve you. I do!"

He laughed darkly. "Don't kid yourself, Selwyn, you and I will never happen. You're weak, _pathetic_ , you had others deal with your problems because you neither had the magical ability nor the courage to do so. You had others attack an innocent, unharmed witch when she has done nothing to you, looked your way or spoke to you."

"She's trying to take you from me," she argued. "I've seen you together in the corridors and the library, whispering to each other. Flora saw her being pulled into an alcove and _you_ stepped out."

"I was never yours. I find your shameless flirting and your throwing yourself at me annoying and a waste of my time."

"But she doesn't want you. I do."

"That's what you don't understand. She gained my attention without trying to, she goes out of her way to _avoid_ me. I know she dislikes me, she insults me at every opportunity she gets and that presents me with a challenge. She matches me intellectually and magically. That witch has more power in her little finger than you do in your entire body, regardless of blood. She is incredibly powerful, more so than people realise. But I know who she truly is and I need her."

"So take her, force her to serve you and you can take me as your wife, your loyal follower."

Tom laughed and shook his head. "God, you're thick," he sighed. "You don't get it, Selwyn. I don't just need her. I _want_ her. I don't want to force her; I want her to come to me willingly. She's too stubborn and fearless. She'd tell me to go and fuck myself before launching a blood curse my way. She's intelligent, fearless, powerful, beautiful..."

"Beautiful?" She spluttered.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "You might not think so, but when's she furious, her cheeks flushed, her eyes narrowed into deadly slits, dancing with raging flames and promising pain, her hair looking as though it's capable of physically attacking someone... She is beautiful. A damned Warrior Goddess. I need her if I'm to achieve everything I wish to, and I want her by my side when I do. As for you being my wife, never. I despise you. The only reason I put up with you for so long is that I needed a connection to your brother."

"I'll tell him everything," she threatened, "He won't give you anything."

He chuckled, "Too late, Selwyn. I have everything I need and I no longer need you. Your brother needs me if he's to drag your House out of the gutter and rebuild your reputation. We both know that you've fallen from grace over the last couple of decades and your standing is no longer what it once was. And with your brother now being Lord Selwyn, he has the authority to arrange a marriage for you."

"What do you mean?" She whispered fearfully.

He smiled at her. "I suggested that to elevate your social standing, it would be to his benefit that you wed a wizard from a wealthier family. I believe you will be receiving a letter shortly informing you of your engagement to Oberon Flint."

"But he's a second year!" She cried.

"I know," he tipped his head slightly. "And the little wizard is over the moon to be marrying a beauty such as yourself. Of course, that means you'll have an engagement period of five years, given his age. So I hope you are able to remain loyal to your husband-to-be."

"You've done all of this, thrown me away from her. For that slut."

Tom's anger intensified and he tightened his grip on her throat, restricting her airflow until she gasped and clawed at his hand, trying to pull it from her. Salazar, was he tempted to use the Liquefying Lungs Curse on her. Nilrem had promised he'd enjoy chapter fifty-seven in the book and she hadn't disappointed. The chapter held almost thirty pages and it went into highly in-depth knowledge regarding the creating of the curse, the purpose, the effects and how it worked. He'd read the chapter twice, wishing to commit it to memory in case she ever did hold up her promise and burn the book to ashes. And now that he had all of the information swirling in his brain, he couldn't wait to test it for himself, knowing it would have to wait when he wasn't on school grounds and in danger of being caught.

"I've been waiting years to get you off my back and it had nothing to do with Nilrem. And although our relationship hasn't _yet_ become physical, my relationship with her is none of your concern. If I wish to speak with her, I will. If I wish to sit beside her in our shared classes, I will. If I wish to ask her to be my study partner, I will. If I wish to escort her to Hogsmeade, I will. If I wish to fuck her in _your_ bed, I will. Nilrem is off-limits and she is under my protection. Should I see a wand being raised to her or hear any bad word spoken against her, not only will I not be responsible for my actions, but I'll convince her to seek her own justice, and I promise you, the witch is downright frightening and vindictive in ways I can never be. I don't believe she'd kill you as she'd see that as too messy, too little effort and an injustice. No, she'd keep you alive and play with you until you begged for death. The rumours are true, you know? They say her father was an incredibly powerful wizard that was killed by Grindelwald because he refused to be an ally and he was too powerful to be an enemy. He taught her everything he knew, forms of magic that are long since forgotten and are no longer mentioned in books. That is how powerful she is. Stay away from me and stay away from her. If you don't, I'll spread the word that you've been spreading your legs for any wizard who asked."

"You can't do that?" She gasped in horror.

He smiled cruelly. "I can and I will. The Flints will break the betrothal contract, your family will be disgraced and your brother will disown you. Your life will be over."

"They won't believe you."

"Oh, but they will. After all, I'm the perfect Head Boy with perfect grades and not a single blip on my school record. You, however, are barely passing your classes, and have been caught in compromising positions more than once by both students and professors. This is my one and only warning, stay out of my way or I will ruin you and your entire bloodline. And don't think you're to escape punishment for what you did to Nilrem because you haven't. Now, get out of my sight."

Relinquishing his hold on her and stepping back, he brushed down his robes and watched as she rubbed her hand over her throat, her tear-filled eyes darting between him and the wizards behind him before she turned and ran up the stairs, her sniffles leaving with her.

Turning to face his followers, they were all watching him with various forms of surprise and amusement.

"Well, today has been eventful," he said lightly, brushing his hand through his hair before muttering a Time Charm and sighing. "Well, curfew is soon to begin for the lower years so I best begin my rounds."

Tipping his head, he left the common room and made his way through the castle and before he knew it, he'd reached the third floor. As he approached a third year to tell them to return to their common room, he paused in his steps when he caught sight of Nilrem walking down the corridor, her nose buried in a book. One would think she'd learn from her mistake, one that had only happened but a couple of hours ago, but it seemed not.

Wondering what she was doing and why she was heading away from Ravenclaw Tower, he decided to follow her, doing his best to not draw her attention which didn't appear to be a problem given her distraction. He was certain he'd be able to walk beside her and she wouldn't notice.

She didn't travel far he noted, she remained on the third floor and wherever she was going, she must visit frequently giving that she travelled without once lifting her gaze and she didn't bump into something or trip on the uneven stone floor. She reached a little-used corridor, one that housed unused classrooms as the population had declined over the years and they required less teaching space for smaller classes, and she halted before a portrait of a young girl dressed in white as she danced and frolicked in a meadow.

"Hello, Hermione," squeaked a young voice.

Nilrem lifted her gaze from her book and smiled at the portrait. "Hello, Sweetie, and how are you this evening?"

"Happy," she giggled.

"Good, the day in which a child is not happy is the day I no longer wish to live on this earth. Corvum Nigrum,"

"Sleep tight, Hermione," said the young girl, before the portrait swung open and Hermione stepped inside.

Tom blinked in surprise as the portrait closed behind her and he briefly considered drawing closer to get a better look but decided against it. Portraits such as the ones that guarded common rooms and the like, had a tendency to warn those inside should someone be lurking about outside. Despite his curiosity to what was behind that portrait and what Nilrem was up to, it would have to wait until he was certain she wasn't there.

~000~000~000~

**Sunday 12th November 1994**

He'd only been sat at his table no more than fifteen minutes when he felt her presence beside him. Lifting his gaze from his book and parchment, his quill poised and ready to take notes, he arched an eyebrow as Nilrem moved until she took the chair opposite him, Tom briefly noting that she was injury-free.

She folded her arms and leaned forward, pressing against the edge of the table, her eyes darting about her surroundings, Tom knowing there were very few people present in the library given that it was a Sunday afternoon and most students were out on the grounds, enjoying the little sunshine that was offered that day.

"So," she began, shifting in her chair to get more comfortable, "It has come to my attention that although your actions yesterday were highly annoying, you did help me..." She grimaced and his mouth twitched in amused. "And though I owe you somewhat of an apology, I'm too stubborn," she admitted. "So, thank you."

"You're welcome," he smirked, knowing she was highly uncomfortable with the situation. "Now, if I may?" He prompted and she eyed him warily before slowly nodding her head. "I would say what happened yesterday was a significant event, wouldn't you? Why did you not _see_ it and prevent it from happening?"

Without pause, she replied, "It doesn't work that way, Riddle. I've come to realise that I only see what I'm supposed to and what the greater powers that be _allow_ me to see, and that also means that I'm unable to see my own future. For that, I'm just as blind as anyone, stumbling around trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with my life and who I'm supposed to be. Sometimes I get these feelings that might lead me down a specific pathway, that leads me to where I need to be, sometimes I feel that something's going to happen but I don't know what, but I'd say that's more to do with instinct than my magic."

"You have an ability that you can't use for self-gain," he surmised.

"Essentially," she nodded, "Which is how and why I didn't know _that_ was going to happen. Sometimes I see flashes of images that make no sense and then I'll later find myself having a feeling of de ja vu, sometimes I see an entire scene or scenario and if troublesome, I'm sometimes able to prevent it from happening. Sometimes I see images from the past, and although I'm unable to change what happened, it allows me to see the truth, to better understand what happened. I can't force it and I can't control it, it happens when it happens. Sometimes when I'm in class or when I'm reading, sometimes when I'm walking the corridors or I'm in the great hall eating dinner, sometimes they wake me from my sleep."

"And have you seen anything regarding me and my future or past?" He asked, leaning forward, already knowing the answer as he recalled some of her past statements during their interactions.

She observed him carefully as she unfolded her arms and then dug her hand into her robe pocket, drawing back with a paper bag he knew all too well. Silently, she pushed it across the table and Tom reached for it, peering inside to see a number of chocoballs and several bars of dark wizochoc.

As he lifted his eyes to her, a little surprised that she'd evidently purchased them for _him_ , he noted that she'd stood from the chair and was tucking it under the table with the intention of leaving.

"Wait," he interrupted, reaching down for his school bag and removing the book, holding it out to her. She eyed it warily. "I haven't cursed it to shock you," he rolled his eyes. She didn't look as though she believed him. "Have I ever lied to you?"

"How would I know?" She responded, cautiously taking the book from him and receiving no harm or injury. "And the chapter?" She inquired.

"Enlightening," he replied, his mouth twitching into a smirk.

She nodded. "Yes, fascinating with a touch of revolting," she agreed. Reaching into her pocket, she drew back with her wand before tapping it against the book cover, a red glow briefly surrounding it. "Given how quickly you solved my little puzzle, I will give you a time limit of five days, and just so you know, with each puzzle you break, the harder the difficulty becomes."

She placed the book on the table, Tom now knowing not to touch it with his bare hands and his eyes darted between the book and her.

"You've already applied the curse? That was quick," he remarked, seeing as he'd witnessed her simply pressing the tip of her wand to the cover once. And it wasn't remotely helpful in giving him a hint as to what she'd done to it, given that she hadn't spoken or used an identifiable wand movement.

"Riddle, I already have all of the curses I wish to use meticulously planned. And no, they are not stored on parchment so there is no point in trying to break into my dorm or have someone steal it. Good luck."

She turned and walked away and Tom darted his eyes back to the newly cursed book, being sure to lift it using the fabric of his robes before he placed it in his school bag, away from prying eyes. He couldn't wait to get to the privacy of his dorm and begin unravelling the puzzle she'd set for him. He darted a glance around him, seeing no potential witnesses and before he turned his eyes back to his parchment, he peered over his shoulder, seeing Nilrem perched at a table two down from him and three to the left.

More books than necessary were piled high on the floor by her chair and books lay open, covering the entirety of the large table only she occupied. It was obvious she'd been there for quite some time and he hadn't noticed her upon his own entrance into the library. Her shoes lay on the floor under her chair but her legs were pulled up and tucked beneath her, her knees peeking out from under her skirt. Her robes were thrown over the back of her chair, her hair piled atop her head, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose and as she tipped her head, her elbow propped up on the table and her finger playing with a loose curl, her other hand held a red sugar quill as she popped it in her mouth, sucking at it as she read the book before her.

His eyes were drawn to her mouth, watching as the sweet treat disappeared between her plump lips and she sucked, and when she drew it back to wiggle her finger so the page of her book turned, her pink tongue darted out to swipe over her lips before licking the sugary treat and drawing it back into her mouth.

Tom's hands clenched into fists and his eyes locked on her, carefully watching her. He was certain she was oblivious to those around and that she had no idea what it was she was doing. To her, she was simply reading and enjoying a sugary treat, it was innocent, unintended. And for him, that just made it worse. Feeling his lower half responding and beyond his control, he took a slow, measured breath and forced himself to look away, even if it did take longer than he'd like to admit.

Never before had his focus been tested and he did everything he possibly could to forget the image of Nilrem sucking on a sugar quill but he knew it would forever be burned into his mind, and it didn't help that all he had to do was look behind him and see her. Sighing, knowing he wasn't going to get anything done when with her nearby, he packed up his belongings, gathered his books and left them by the librarian's station and then he took his leave, heading for the sanctuary of his private dorm.

Damn sugar quills, he never should've bought the bloody things!

As he approached the staircase, he paused, realising that he was on the third floor and Nilrem was squirrelled away in the library, he was free to investigate the portrait and the secrets it hid. Smiling to himself, he turned and travelled to the sparsely used corridor, approaching the portrait and stopping before it.

Before, he hadn't gotten a clear view of the portrait but now, seeing the long brown curly locks, the bright brown eyes, pale skin and freckles dotting the bridge of the young girl's nose and cheeks, he realised that was the way he pictured Nilrem as a young child, the resemblance was frightening.

The young girl was laughing and dancing through the meadow joyfully and when she spun around, she halted to a stop, her eyes widening and her cheeks tinting pink.

"Hello, who are you?" She squeaked.

Tom offered his most charming smile, seeing the young girl duck her head shyly.

"Hello, I'm Tom Riddle, the current Head Boy of Hogwarts."

"Oh, Hermione's told me about you," she said, her eyes lighting in recognition.

"Good things I hope."

"No, she said you're really annoying and that she wishes she could set you on fire without getting expelled," she confessed.

Tom laughed, not in the least bit surprised. "I'm sure she did," he smiled.

"Hermione's not here right now," said the young girl.

"I know, I wish to leave a gift for her."

"A gift?" She chirped. "Does Hermione know?"

"No, and I'd like for it to be a surprise. You see, Hermione is quite stubborn and I've been trying to convince her to let me take her to Hogsmeade for quite some time. I'm hoping that a surprise gift might help."

"Do you know the password?"

"Corvum Nigrum," he replied confidently, having overheard Nilrem speak it.

She giggled. "Correct."

"Please, don't tell Hermione that I've been here or that I was the one to leave the gift, I wish for it to be a surprise, one she must discover for herself."

"Okay, good luck, Tom Riddle," she said, the portrait swinging up.

Upon entrance, Tom barely registered the portrait closing behind him, as he was too busy examining his surroundings. He wasn't entirely certain what he'd been expecting but it certainly wasn't a dorm room, a _suite_. He took in the colour scheme of brown and cream, the leather seating, the soft rugs, the large stone fireplace, a kitchenette and study desk and chair. His eyes were drawn to the bookcase and he crossed over to it, noting that it contained more books than should've been possible and his eyes scanned the titles, recognising the school books and some of the texts she'd purchased from Flourish and Blotts, but there were also books he'd never heard of but given their titles, he was certain they were highly illegal.

Reaching out to pluck one from the bookcase, he hissed out a breath and drew his hand back, realising that Nilrem had warded the entire contents of the bookcase, no doubt so only she could remove a book. Scowling in annoyance, he darted his eyes around him once more before spying two doors, Tom being certain one was a bathroom and the other a bedroom.

She had her own suite, and given the size and kitchenette, he was certain it had likely once been a professor's quarters. But why did she have her own suite? Why wasn't she housed in Ravenclaw Tower? This can't have been found coincidentally and neither would she have known the password. No, it had to have been _given_ to her, and knowing that Nilrem had been evading him and his followers from the beginning, he realised she'd been hiding out in that room. Dippet or Dumbledore had to have signed off on it, it was impossible to hide such a thing from a member of staff, especially with the portraits and their penchant for gossip.

He was the damn Head Boy and even he didn't have his own kitchenette or living room, only a bathroom and bedroom.

Pursing his lips, he decided to do some digging, wondering what secrets he'd find if he snooped through her things, only, as he headed for the bedroom, he heard voices outside and he paused in his steps. When the portrait door swung open, Tom did the only thing he could think of.

He panicked and dropped to the floor, hiding behind the couch. He heard Nilrem humming to herself and she paused by the coffee table to remove her shoes and robes before she headed for her bedroom, Tom spying that she had a book in her arms and she was still sucking on that dam red sugar quill.

Once she stepped out of view and into the bedroom, Tom quietly crossed to the door and stepped out of the portrait, it closing behind him and he sighed in relief.

"Did she see you? I tried to give you time to hide," said the young girl.

"She didn't see me, thank you for your help. And remember, all of this stays between us. It's our little secret."

"Our little secret," she repeated with a giggle. "I hope to see you again, Tom Riddle, it gets very lonely with only Hermione on this corridor."

"You will," he promised, giving her a smile before turning and leaving.

Nilrem had her own secret suite away from Ravenclaw Tower and now he had access to it.

~000~000~000~

**Wednesday 15th November 1994**

"Ah, there you are," said Tom, leaning against the wall of the Astronomy Tower as Nilrem sat on the stairs, a book in her lap.

"Here I am," she replied, barely look at him. "What can I do for you?"

In response, he removed the book from his school bag and handed it to her, noting that she didn't lift her gaze or hesitate in taking it from him, trusting that he hadn't cursed it to shock her as she'd been previously paranoid.

"How did you find it?"

"Easy," he replied.

She lifted her gaze as she set the book in her lap, a smirk tugging at her mouth as though she didn't believe him.

Although it had only taken him three days to break and remove the curse from the book, it had, admittedly, been more difficult than the previous one. Not only had she layered a dozen curses atop each other, each more difficult to break than the next, but she'd done it in such a way that there wasn't a pattern to it he could decipher, and _,_ she'd twisted the curses together, meaning he'd had to unravel them one by one and very carefully. One wrong move would've resulted in serious injury.

"Number?" She questioned.

"Eight-Two,"

She hummed thoughtfully, tipping her head. "Oh, whilst this curse isn't so disgusting, the mechanics behind it are fascinating," she commented before giving her head a shake. "Centaur." The book glowed blue before fading into nothing and Riddle took the book from her once more. Closing her book and rising to her feet, she said, "See you later, Riddle."

"Wait," he said, quickly falling into step beside her as she walked down the quiet corridor. "I have something for you."

"What?" She frowned in confusion and halted in her steps, turning to face him.

Smirking, he dug into his pocket and removed a box fitted with a ribbon tied into a bow. It had taken longer than he'd initially have liked and after sending the owl with his letter almost two weeks ago, he'd received a letter stating that what he wished for wouldn't be ready for purchase for ten days. Despite being annoyed, he'd waited patiently and when the time had passed, he'd sent another letter, receiving one in response that held instructions for a date and time of delivery. An hour before he'd found Nilrem, he'd headed for the Hogwarts' gates where he'd met the seller and the goods had been exchanged.

Tipping her head curiously, she startled when the box visibly moved as it sat in the palm of his hand.

"Open it," he encouraged.

Gingerly, she reached out, taking the box from him and he took her book from her, allowing her the use of both hands. She untied the ribbon and shifted the lid from the box, peering inside, her eyes widening in surprise but her face morphing into the softest expression he'd ever seen.

She reached in and drew back, the custard-yellow colouring of the fluff-ball sitting in the palm of her hand and standing out against the grey of the castle surrounding them. Tiny ears and a nose were hidden by the mass of fur and black eyes peered up at Nilrem adoringly.

The small creature visibly shuddered before launching itself towards Nilrem, snuggling into her neck and humming contentedly. She reached up, her hand preventing the little creature from falling and holding it to her whilst she shoved the empty box into her pocket.

"You got me a puffskein," she muttered, her head tilted as her she watched the little creature try to snuggle closer.

"Yes, you told me you'd always wanted one and that you had to return the one you purchased because your mother was allergic. Now there is nothing to keep you from having one," he shrugged.

She lifted her surprised gaze to him and not only had he never seen such a soft expression grace someone's face, but he'd never seen her grace him with such an expression. It was usually annoyance or a glare.

"I..." She snapped her mouth closed, blinking slowly and her eyes darting down to the puffskein trying to burrow beneath the collar of her jumper. "Thank you," she said softly.

Her eyes turning to him once more, her gaze slowly examined his face before she reached out and took her book from him and she made to turn and walk away, only she paused, turned back towards him, stepped closer, rose up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before she scurried down the corridor.

Tom watched her leave with a scowl. Whilst he may have proven that he listened to her and was willing to give her anything she wanted, even a bloody puffskein, he'd been expecting more of a reaction. But, he supposed, that was the first time she'd ever been willingly close to him and she'd kissed his cheek. He had to take it as a win.

Only, he was growing impatient and he wanted her now. As the muggles say, it's time to bring out the big guns.

~000~000~000~

**Friday 17th November 1994**

"Really?" Tom arched an eyebrow, looking to Nilrem pointedly.

After taking his stool beside her at their potions workbench, he'd immediately spotted the custard-yellow fur of the puffskein peaking out from her robe pocket.

"What?" She asked, barely glancing at him as she flipped through her potions book, looking for the correct page for that day's lesson.

"In your pocket," he clarified.

"Oh," she said, pulling her eyes from her book and looking down at her pocket, sticking her index finger inside and the puffskein hummed in content as it snuggled her finger. "Bear cried every time I tried to leave my dorm."

"You named it Bear?" He questioned in amused disbelief that she'd name one of the most harmless creatures on the planet after such a deadly animal.

"Yes, I named _him_ Bear," she gave him a scathing look. "And it suits him perfectly," she cooed down at the small creature stashed in her pocket. "As I was saying, he cried whenever I tried to leave my dorm and he only stopped when I allowed him to come with me. He enjoyed some toast for breakfast and he slept through the entirety of my COMC lesson... Stop that," she scolded.

Tom looked down, seeing the small creature trying to climb from her pocket, something that was quite amusing to watch given the little creature was a literal ball of fur that had neither arms nor legs.

"Honestly, you are the cutest but most demanding creature I have ever met," she huffed.

Rolling her eyes, she plucked the small creature from her pocket and set it on her lap, not looking the least bit surprised when it burrowed under the hem of her jumper, snuggling against the fabric of her shirt and her body heat encased by the layers of clothing.

"Puffskeins are highly affectionate creatures and they are most comfortable in warm, dark places, and close contact with another settles them," she explained to his arched eyebrow, her gaze lowering when the small creature hummed and visibly shook, it shifting her jumper. "You'll have to stop that or we'll get caught," she muttered, patting the creature beneath her jumper before she turned her focus back to her book now that it appeared to have settled.

"I want you to meet me on the second floor by the girl's bathroom after dinner."

"Why?"

"There's something I need to discuss with you."

She turned to him with an arched eyebrow of questioning. "Care to elaborate? That is awfully unspecific."

"No,"

"Fair enough," she shrugged. "If you don't annoy me for the remainder of the day, I'll _consider_ meeting you."

~000~000~000~

"Okay, Riddle, I'm here, what's on the agenda this evening? And can we make it quick? I left Bear in my dorm and I imagine he's likely woken by now and throwing a crying fit."

Tom drew his attention from staring at the carving on the bathroom sink and he turned to face Nilrem, seeing her stood with her arms folded and an expectant expression.

"I must confess, I have not been completely honest with you."

"What a surprise," she rolled her eyes.

"You once asked me about the incident that took place last year, the legend surrounding the Chamber of Secrets and the Heir of Slytherin," he stated, observing her carefully for her reaction.

"I did," she agreed.

"You admitted that you'd like to meet someone of his bloodline, someone who is powerful and may even possess the gift of being a Parselmouth."

"I did," she nodded, "It's such a shame the line's said to have died off," she remarked.

"Hmmm," he hummed, taking a step closer to her. "What if I were to tell you it hasn't? What if I were to tell you I know where you can find the last remaining blood relative of Salazar Slytherin himself?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted, her arms dropping down by her sides. That was the reaction he'd been expecting.

"You know _who_ it is?" She asked excitedly. "God! You have to tell me, tell me! Please, Riddle," she begged, all but jumping on the spot, "Are they in the school? What year? Or is it a professor? Someone who's already graduated? Please, tell me, I'll do anything," she pleaded.

His mouth tugged into a pleased smirk as he approached her, stopping before her and lowering his head, their noses almost touching as chocolate brown eyes met ice-blue.

"How does it feel to be stood in the presence of royalty? Of greatness?"

"What?" Her brow furrowed.

He lifted his hands and settled them against the wall, caging Nilrem in.

"You know as well as I, I'm far more powerful than any in this pitiful excuse for a school. It's me, Nilrem. _I'm_ the Heir of Slytherin. I have Salazar's blood flowing through my veins. I am a Parselmouth?"

Her eyes held his before a snort fell from her lips.

"Yes, and I'm the Heir of Merlin," she replied, a knowing smirk playing at her lips and her eyes gleaming.

"I am, Nilrem," he glared down at her.

"Prove it, prove that you're the Heir of Slytherin," she challenged, folding her arms over her chest in-between them, her arms brushing his chest, preventing him from getting closer.

Opening his mouth, Tom let a series of hisses break free but she looked wholly unimpressed, arching an eyebrow.

"I can do that, too, watch," she instructed, releasing a mocking hiss.

"Nilrem, do not test my patience, or I'll set the basilisk on you!" He warned.

"Bit dramatic, don't you think?" She replied, more amused than afraid.

Taking a breath and clenching his hands into fists, they unclenched and pressed flat against the wall once more.

"Will you be mine now?" He asked. "Between your abilities and my power, we can have _everything_. I will give you anything you wish, all you have to do it pledge allegiance to me and be mine. In every way."

"No."

"What?" He snapped.

What more did he have to do? He listened to her, he ensured she didn't starve herself to death, he bought her favourites treats for her, he'd bought her a damn puffskein and he'd revealed his secret, one very few currently knew. What more did she want from him?!

"No, Riddle, I'm not giving in to you no matter what you say or do. And by the way, I _know_ who you are."

"What?" He replied this time confused.

"Riddle," she sighed, shaking her head, "I've _always_ known who you are. When I said I knew you better than most, than anyone, I meant it. I know of all that you've done, I've seen it. From the moment I laid eyes on you in the great hall on my first day, I knew."

His brow furrowed in realisation. "So everything you said to me in that hidden room?"

"Yep," she popped the 'p'. "I was bored and wanted a little entertainment and you certainly didn't disappoint with your reactions. You know how I love to annoy you," she shrugged. "Tell me, my reaction just now, did you believe me to be truly excited? Was it believable or should I continue to work on my acting skills? You know, never mind, I best get back to my dorm. See you later, Heir of Slytherin."

She ducked beneath his arm and left out the door, Tom staring after her in confusion, disbelief, surprise and anger. Before he realised it, he'd chased after her, soon catching up her before she turned the corner, his hand wrapping around her wrist and tugging her to a stop.

"Yes?" She arched an eyebrow.

He opened his mouth to respond when they were interrupted by a group of shrieking and crying second year girls, darting around the corner and down the corridor towards them, running as though they were being chased by a deadly monster and they were covered in what looked to be flour, water and eggs.

"PEEVES!" They cried.

Nilrem's eyes widened and she huffed out a breath when Tom tugged her out of the path of the second years and into a nearby alcove.

This one was much smaller than the one they'd previously found themselves in, the space being so small and cramped they were wedged in-between the walls, facing each other in the darkness and for each breath they took, their chests pressed against one another.

"Shhh," Tom instructed, his hand covering Nilrem's mouth to prevent her from speaking.

Peering out of the alcove, he ducked back inside and ensured the tapestry that covered it was in place, sending the small space into darkness and he was quick to pull his wand, shooting a soft ball of light to hover above them.

Nilrem was glaring at him furiously and he brought his finger to his mouth, signalling for to be quiet as he heard Peeves in the corridor.

"Come out, come out, ickle kiddies. You can't hide from me, I'm fast like a buzzy bee!" He sang, cackling.

As the corridor grew quiet, Tom didn't want to risk checking if the coast was clear just yet. Even him being Head Boy didn't offer him protection against Peeves and he was not in the mood to end up as the second years had.

Tipping his head back against the wall and sighing, he slipped his wand into his pocket and slowly removed his hand from Nilrem's mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed in annoyance.

"Oh, so you wanted to end up like cake batter, did you?" He snapped in annoyance. "Sorry, next time I'll leave you be trampled and to the mercy of that bloody menace out there."

She huffed and made to fold her arms but she didn't have the space to do so and she huffed again. "Is he gone?"

"I don't know. I don't feel comfortable checking just yet. Peeves has been known to lure people into a false sense of security. He might very well still be out there, waiting for us to leave so he can pelt us with whatever disgusting product he's using this time."

"So we're stuck," she pointed out.

"For now," he agreed.

She sighed and tipped her head back. "Fantastic."

The minutes ticked by in uncomfortable silence and he shifted to get more comfortable.

"Why do you deny it?"

"What?" She blinked slowly, lifting her head away from the wall and her eyes fluttering open.

"Why do you deny there is something between us?"

"There isn't," she protested.

"No?" He arched a challenging eyebrow and without warning, he released his magic.

Nilrem's eyes fluttered closed and she slumped against the wall, her mouth parting as a puff of air left her. His mouth twitched into a smile and he leaned in closer, his head lowering and his nose ghosting the length of her neck, noting that she tipped her head the slightest bit to offer more skin.

"I affect you like no other, _Hermione_. And that is why you don't like me. You don't like the power I have over you. You don't like that your body reacts to me so. You are mine, Nilrem. Whether you admitted or not."

"Not," she breathed out. "And two can play that game."

Her hands fisted into his robes, she took a deep breath and as she released it slowly, her chest pressed firmly against his and he felt her magic swarm him, it brushing against his skin and tussling his hair like a gentle breeze. It was thick and heady just as his was, only there was something of a feminine feel to it. Something that was decidedly _her_. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathed deeply, searching for every ounce of control he possessed when he felt their magic twisting and around one another like two chords of rope.

A groan caught in his throat when he felt her magic draw back from him only to slam into him as though he'd been thrown across the corridor and he'd slammed into the wall. It made it hard to think clearly, to focus, but he didn't want to think. He wanted to feel. He wanted her to feel. He knew that if she just switched off her giant brain and allowed herself to feel, she'd no longer be able to deny what he already knew. She was his.

He heard her breath hitch and felt her grip tightening on his robes, tugging him closer to her, not that it was possible. If they were any closer they'd become one and it almost seemed as though she was trying to meld them together. He lowered his head and breathed deeply, inhaling the honey scent of her skin, revelling in the feeling of their magic twining and melding, something they'd be able to mimic if she stopped being so stubborn.

He shifted slightly, his lips brushing her pulse point, feeling it racing beneath her skin and his mouth twitched when he heard the choked noise in the back of her throat. His mouth pressed a kiss in the same spot, his tongue darting out briefly to flick at her warm, pale skin. Her knees buckled and he reached out, his hands settling on her waist, holding her steady.

"Admit it, Nilrem."

"No," she denied.

Humming, he trailed a line of kisses along the length of her neck until he reached her jaw, nipping with his teeth before his lips ghosted a kiss by the corner of her mouth. He drew back slightly and she lifted her head, her half-lidded gaze locking with his darkening eyes. He reached out, plucking the glasses from her face and settling them in his pocket and then he reached for the hairclip that held her mass of curls in place atop her head, her wild locks falling around her face.

The change was immediate within him. He definitely preferred her with _out_ her glasses and _with_ her hair down. She looked dark, mysterious, dangerous, like some dark Warrior Goddess that wouldn't hesitate to kill or curse whoever got in her way. And as she stared at him, she looked torn between killing him and kissing him. He knew which he preferred.

He dropped the hair clip, it clattering against the stone floor and his hand came up to the back of her neck, holding her in place and his fingers getting tangled in her wild hair.

Slowly, he lowered his head, his intentions clear and giving her the opportunity to stop him.

She didn't.

He smirked when her eyes fluttered closed and she slumped against him when his mouth pressed against hers for the first time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 34

**Friday 17th November 1944**

Hermione couldn't help it. It was as if all coherent thought had left her; she couldn't focus and neither did she seem to be in control of her own limbs. When he released his magic like that, it always surrounded her like a thick, intoxicating blanket of power and heat. It always addled her brain, made her dizzy and far from the sharp and intelligent witch she was. It always brushed her against her skin, sending tingling shivers through her body, right down to her toes. It brought forward a twisting in her stomach, a knot of tension that begged to be broken and she knew that feeling all too well.

She'd been so close to fighting it off, to proving that he absolutely didn't affect her, that he didn't have power over her as he thought he did. That she wasn't the same as the other witches that tripped over themselves to please him, to get his attention, his affection. And then he'd kissed her.

The moment his too-soft lips (something she felt was far from necessary. Why did God feel the need to make Riddle a living version of Adonis? Was it not enough that he was powerful beyond belief, smarter than most and charming enough to get whatever he wanted? That was already a deadly combination, but He thought, 'no, let's make him physically perfect, too'. What the hell was wrong with the big man upstairs?) pressed against hers, it was almost too much to bear.

She could feel it, their magic melding as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if it was meant to happen, as if they were meant for each other and each other alone. She felt the fire within burst to life, heat seeming to flow through her very veins and carry in her magic as it burned and consumed her, the knotting in her stomach twisting in such a way it was pained-pleasure. She couldn't get enough of that feeling and she wanted more.

She couldn't physically support her own limbs and she slumped forward, falling into and against him. She felt it, the moment the cold air ghosted over her lips when he drew back from her. He'd barely managed to retreat a few millimetres when Hermione's hands released their grip on his robes and reached up, fisting in his hair (of course, that was soft and silky, too, because, why wouldn't it be?) and tugging him down to her whilst she reached up on her tiptoes, fusing their mouths together once more. No, one press of the lips was certainly not enough. She wanted more.

His chuckle was dark and sinful, it reverberating in his chest and sending a zing right to her very core. She felt his hand shift to her hip over the fabric of her robes and uniform, and whilst a brief thought that he was going to pull back from her and arrogantly tease her flittered through her mind, she was relieved when he simply pulled her closer to him, being pressed together so tightly, she was certain even air wouldn't be able to pass between them.

He pressed her into the wall, his larger and stronger form keeping her trapped but Hermione was no unwilling prisoner, not this time. She about died on the spot when his hand that was currently holding the back of her neck reached up and gathered as much of her hair as he could in one grasp, gathering it at the nape of her neck and tugging hard. Not only did it send a stab of pain through her scalp, not only did it send a zing of pleasure south, not only did it force her head to tip back, but it forced a gasp to fall from her mouth. An action that he used to his full advantage, his tongue darting out and between her parted lips without so much as a care for her thoughts on the matter.

The moment his tongue brushed against hers, she felt the change within in him, in both his body and his magic. He pressed her against the wall so tightly, she found it difficult to breathe, and before, whilst he'd seemed to be deliberately maintaining a slow, languid pace, it was as if he'd lost all control and he was devouring her like a man starved. As though she was the very air he breathed, the last slice of chocolate cake in existence, the very thing that kept him alive.

He was like fiendfyre, consuming, powerful and deadly, as he plundered and dominated her mouth with his tongue, his hand tugging at her hair and angling her head however he wished, and his grip on her hip tightening. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, his tongue soothing the sting before darting back into her mouth, Hermione feeling the curve of his mouth as it twitched into a smirk when a soft moan slipped free and was caught in his mouth.

And as he consumed her, dominated her, overwhelmed her, it still wasn't enough. She wanted more. She _needed_ more. She needed _him_. As she tightened her grip and tugged on her fistfuls of his outrageously silky hair, he groaned into her mouth, pressing his lower body against hers. That's what she needed.

She fitted her arms to sit on his shoulders, adjusting her hold on his hair and then without warning, she bounced up on her tiptoes, jumped and folded her legs around his hips. She heard him groan in surprise and approval, the small space they occupied preventing him from accidentally dropping her after her surprise attack and his arm soon slotted around her lower back, holding her up as he pressed her into the wall.

Hermione was sure to give as good as she got, nipping at his lip with her teeth and soothing the sting with a swipe of her tongue before forcing her way into his mouth, battling for dominance, something he soon won, but she honestly didn't care.

She could feel it all building, the tension coiling and wanting, needing to snap, her chest heaving and lungs burning, knowing that she'd soon have to draw back for breath, something she didn't want to do. No, his mouth on hers was intoxicating and freeing, something she wasn't quite ready to lose, not even for a moment.

And as he shifted her weight to better and comfortably fit against him, there were two things that unexpectedly and violently shoved her back into reality. One, the sounds of voices carrying down the corridor, and two, feeling his hardened, restrained length pressed against her centre, only her knickers and his trousers and underwear separating them.

It was at that moment when she realised she was dangerously close to shagging Tom Riddle in a tapestry covered alcove on the second floor corridor.

Lurching back from him, she gasped, one, because she needed the oxygen, and two, because she was horrified with herself. Her eyes wide and lips red and bruised, she stared at him, seeing his eyes so dark in colour, she struggled to determine between the iris and pupil. His stare, it was so heated she was convinced he'd be able to melt steel, and it was solely focused on her.

His chest rose and fell as his body reclaimed the oxygen she'd stolen from him, his lips were red and bruised to match her own and his hair was dishevelled, no longer perfectly combed and styled.

Struggling with the feelings welling up in her chest and stomach, and the desire suddenly quelling as though she'd been broken free from a spell, as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head, she did the only thing she could think of.

She untangled her hands from his hair, pulled his from his grasp on her hair and then unfolded her legs from around his waist, sliding down the length of his body until her feet his the floor and then she darted out of the alcove and away from him, not caring if someone should see her leave or if she were to attract the attention of Peeves.

She ran and she didn't stop until she reached her dorm, gasping out the password and foregoing small talk with the little girl in the portrait (something that worried the young child) and she stumbled inside, the portrait closing behind her.

It was all too much.

She couldn't focus. She couldn't breathe. Her blood rushed to her head, her pulse pounded in her ears and magical sparks zinged in her hair. She collapsed to the ground on her knees, barely catching herself on her hands as she struggled to remain calm, struggled to fight off the darkness that was threatening to claim her.

"Father!" She gasped out and within the blink of an eye, he was crouched before her, concern filling his features and his hands settling on either side of her face.

His touch alone was the very thing she needed and as if like magic, it all faded into nothing. Her breathing calmed, the panic receded and she found herself capable of focus and thought.

"Did you see?" She whispered.

"No," he answered, "You are my daughter and I love you, but there are some things I do _not_ need to witness."

Her mouth twitched the slightest bit, wishing to break into a smile, but she couldn't do it.

"What do you need from me?"

"A hug."

He smiled at her. "That is something I can do," he agreed, rising to his feet and helping her to stand, wrapping his arms around her in his fatherly hug. All her troubles melted away and she was safe with him.

"We kissed," she said quietly, admitting it out loud. "He kissed me and I let him. He kissed me and I kissed him back."

"And that has caused somewhat of a moral dilemma for you," he stated knowingly.

"Yes."

"Do you wish to discuss it?"

"No," she sighed. "I know your opinions on the matter, I know Sal's, I know Riddle's, even Dumbledore's given his bloody opinion and he's particularly vocal that I should stay away from him."

"But none of that matters, how do _you_ feel?" He pressed.

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Is there anything I can do to make it easier for you?" He asked gently.

"Will you stay with me for a little while?"

"Of course, Little Phoenix," he smiled down at her.

Drawing back from her, he moved to sit on the couch, the fireplace bursting to life with dancing flames with only a glance in its direction. Shyly, Hermione kicked off her shoes and summoned a book from her bookcase, moving to stand before her father and holding it out to him.

"Will you read to me?" She requested. "You never had the opportunity to do so when I was a child."

Surprised by her words, he blinked before smiling and nodding, taking the book from her, spying the title. _Alice in Wonderland_ , her favourite childhood storybook.

Hermione took a seat beside him on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her and summoning her hideous woollen blanket, draping it over them both and then she snuggled into his side. Before he'd had the chance to open the book and begin reading, Athena soon made herself known, perching on the back of the couch and affectionately nuzzling them both and Bear soon followed her, snuggling against Hermione beneath the warmth of the blanket, humming in content.

"Ready?" He checked.

"Ready," she confirmed.

As he opened the book and began reading, Hermione's eyes fluttered closed.

She'd fallen asleep halfway through the first chapter and when she woke during the early hours of the morning, her father was gone and she'd been tucked into bed, still clad in her uniform, hearing Bear's little snores as he lay snuggled in the junction of her neck and shoulders and Athena watched over her from her perch.

~000~000~000~

Tom followed her out of the alcove, seeing her robes and hair billowing behind her as she ran from him. He didn't follow her or call out to stop her, his heated gaze simply locked on her retreating back and he felt a myriad of emotions fill him. Surprise, disbelief, anger, pride, annoyance, amusement... It was all too much for one person to feel, even for him.

As she rounded the corner, her fast footfalls no longer being heard, his tongue darted out to swipe over his bottom lip, his mouth tugging into a smirk at the faint taste of strawberries against his tongue. She didn't wear makeup and neither had she been wearing lipstick, but he knew she often bit and nibbled at her lips when reading so it was likely she wore some kind of product to keep her lips soft and prevent a dry, broken skin build-up. That was what she'd been wearing and he hadn't been expecting it, but neither was he complaining.

Swiping his thumb over his bottom lip, he turned and headed for the dungeons, deciding on his next course of action.

He was surprised that not only had she allowed him to kiss her but that she'd been the one to draw him back to her, effectively breaking his control and allowing things between them to intensify. He'd simply planned on kissing her and walking away, leaving her to her own thoughts where she'd wonder about what she was missing and what he could give her if she only be his. But he wasn't going to complain about the unexpected turn of events, not when she'd been the one to instigate it.

He was annoyed and angry that she'd left him so quickly without so much as a by your leave, and he was in disbelief that she'd done so, too, knowing no one had ever run from him before. But then, he found himself both amused and proud. He was proud that she'd ran from him, from the feelings and thoughts he'd invoked in her and they'd scared her to the point where she'd felt her only option was to run, to get away from him. He'd done exactly what he'd intended to do and now, he had to be patient. He was certain she'd come running to him before the weekend was over.

When he reached the common room and stepped inside, he saw his six Knights perched in their usual seating positions, a game of wizard's chess set up and mid-game between Lestrange and Rosier, Nott held a book up to his nose, Avery looked to be sleeping as he slouched in his seat and Malfoy and Dolohov were speaking to one another, sharing a tumbler of fire whiskey, as they did every Friday evening.

As Tom crossed over to his favourite armchair (one that was _always_ vacant as it was an unwritten rule that no one but him was to occupy the seat) and made himself comfortable, he was unable to keep his smirk from showing. Malfoy and Dolohov looked to him, doing a double-take before Dolohov reached out, smacking Nott over the back of the head and the other wizard startled, dropped his book and glared at him but his eyes soon moved to him, widening in surprise. Silently, he reached out, smacking Avery over the back of the head and he startled awake, glaring at him before his eyes moved to Tom, widening. His mouth parting slightly, he reached out, patting Rosier on the shoulder and drawing his attention away from the chessboard, Lestrange following and their eyes widened, too.

His clothing was rumpled and far from being perfectly pressed, his mouth still a little red and plump and his hair dishevelled, it being clear to see someone had recently had their hands in it.

"If I might," started Malfoy and Tom tipped his head, acquiescing him. "You seem awfully chipper this evening."

"Well, Malfoy, my evening took an unexpected but not wholly unwanted turn." Tom reached up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to right it.

"I can see that," he replied, his mouth twitching. "Am I to assume it was Nilrem?"

"Naturally," Tom smirked, seeing their surprised but amused expressions.

"Is it true?" Dolohov asked. Tom arched a questioning brow. " _Does_ she snog like the devil?" He said boldly.

Tom's smirk widened and he leaned into the back of the armchair, clasping his hands together and settling them on his stomach.

"Oh, Dolohov," said Tom. "You have no idea."

"Has she agreed to give you what you wish?" Asked Nott curiously, his book long since forgotten.

"Not quite," Tom said joyfully. Nott's brow furrowed in confusion, sharing a glance with the other five wizards, some of them shrugging in response. "She ran from me."

"She snogged you and then ran from you?" Checked Dolohov. Tom nodded proudly. "And this makes you happy...?"

"Yes, it does," he confirmed. "You see, the problem with Nilrem is that she thinks too much. I forced her to _feel_ and she ran from me because she finally understands what I've been trying to tell her. She is mine. She will come to me willingly soon enough."

"You seem certain of that," noted Malfoy.

"I am," Tom confirmed confidently.

"But..." Nott hesitated before shaking his head and continuing, "I feel I must remind you," he paused, darting a glance around him to see the many students occupying the common room and he decided against addressing him as 'My Lord,' something Tom knew and tipped his head, allowing it to be said silently. "Nilrem is unlike most witches, as we all know. She has not done anything we've expected of her, she is unpredictable. I would be highly surprised if she _did_ come to you."

"Then we shall see who is correct soon enough," said Tom, marking the topic of conversation as closed.

That night he went to bed with thoughts of strawberry tasting lips, wide, glassy eyes, wild curls tangled about his fingers and magic surrounding him filling his mind. Only, when he fell asleep, she didn't run away. She stayed and she agreed to be his forever.

~000~000~000~

**Tuesday 21st November 1944**

Tom was losing his patience. It had been four days. _Four_ days since his kiss with Nilrem and he'd been certain she'd come running to him and she hadn't. He hadn't even _seen_ her. No one had. He'd expected that she'd hide away in her secret suite but she was a creature of habit so he'd later expected her to venture out to the library or one of her little nooks or stairways. She hadn't. And neither had she been present in the great hall for any meals.

He allowed it to pass, knowing it was the weekend and she had no responsibilities and now that he knew about the kitchenette in her suite, he assumed she wouldn't starve herself. When Monday morning came and she didn't show up to potions, he admitted to himself he was worried.

Nilrem _never_ missed classes. Even when she'd been deliberately avoiding him after Slughorn's party she'd attended all of her classes, she'd simply ignored his very presence and existence. He'd been unable to keep his mood from showing and when he packed up his belongings after the end of the lesson, Slughorn approached his workbench.

"Tom, my lad, I couldn't help but notice you seemed distracted this morning. I can only assume the reason for being Miss. Nilrem's absence."

"I'm sorry, Professor," apologised Tom, giving his best guilty expression and reaching up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

Slughorn chuckled. "Not to worry, Tom, I remember what it was like to be enamoured with a witch in my youth. I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. Miss. Nilrem is simply under the weather but she is expected to recover in a matter of days. "

"Ill?" He questioned.

"Oh, you did not know?" Said Slughorn, giving him a pitying look. "Yes, Miss. Nilrem had taken ill Saturday morning and after she was treated in the medical wing, she was released to her dorm where she might rest and recuperate. She will be absent from all lessons until she is cleared to return by the matron."

"Thank you, Professor, knowing that it is nothing serious has eased a weight of my mind," Tom replied. "I best take my leave before I'm late for my next lesson."

Leaving before Slughorn could pull him back into conversation or offer advice he most certainly didn't want or need, Tom made his way to his next lesson, barely noticing those that shared his next class as they'd waited outside for him.

He didn't believe for a moment that Nilrem was ill. What were the chances that she'd fall ill after kissing him? She knew she'd have to face him when the weekend was over and rather than simply ditching classes, something that would get her into trouble, she'd faked illness, knowing she'd be given a pass until she was cured. He knew her, she was certainly clever enough to fake a convincing illness, and he certainly wouldn't past her. And not only had she faked an illness, but she'd timed it just right. If she'd suddenly fell ill on Monday morning when she'd been fine previously, the matron would've been suspicious, but given that she'd fallen 'ill' on a Saturday, a time when students had no classes or responsibilities, no one would think twice, especially with her record.

Later that evening, he'd gone to the third floor to confront her but when he'd arrived, the little girl hadn't been present in her portrait which meant he couldn't access it from the outside. He had to be let in from the inside and he wasn't ready yet to let her know that he knew about her secret suite, not when he knew she wouldn't let him in.

On Tuesday, that morning during his study period he'd gone to her rooms, finding that the little girl was away from her portrait, once more barring him access to Nilrem. Growling, he'd turned on his heel and stormed away.

After lunch, he'd made a quick detour to the third floor, seeing that little girl was _conveniently_ was missing yet again. Given his mood, no one had dared to speak to him for the remainder of the day.

That night, as he was making his rounds, he abandoned his post and headed to the third floor, finally seeing the little girl prancing and dancing in the meadow.

"Tom Riddle," smiled the young girl upon seeing his approach. "Hello," she greeted.

"Good evening," he replied, forcing his anger and annoyance back and offering her a charming smile. "Is Hermione in?"

"Yes, she's not feeling well," she said, looking a little upset. "She's asked that I ensure I keep the corridor quiet from the rowdy first years. But I think a visit might do her some good."

"As do I, I am a little worried, if I'm honest. It is not like her to miss class, let alone so many of them. Corvum Nigrum."

The little girl smiled at him before the portrait swung open and Tom stepped inside, his eyes taking in his surroundings, dimly lit by the torches lining the walls and the lit fireplace. He saw a stack of books piled on the floor by the coffee tables, a selection of cushions were strewn about the floor in front of the fireplace, and parchment littered the surface of the table. But Nilrem was nowhere to be seen.

Scowling, he made to approach the staircase only he paused when he heard soft humming and it was growing closer. Wishing to surprise her, he crossed to the armchair and took a seat, leaning back, clasping his hands together on his stomach and his right ankle perched on his left knee, his expression neutral as he was bathed by the firelight.

Nilrem stepped out of the room he suspected to be the bedroom and she descended the staircase, making it halfway across the room before she realised she wasn't alone. She froze, her mouth parting in surprise and her eyes widening.

His mouth pulled into a smirk, his eyes slowly taking in the sight of her being cocooned in a hideous plum, green and orange woollen blanket, one that looked to have been knitted by a novice. Seeing this, he wouldn't be surprised if he discovered she'd be the one to knit it.

And as he observed her, he saw no sign or symptom of illness, she looked perfectly fine, just surprised. That was, until, that surprise vanished and was replaced with anger, her eyes flashing dangerously and a single spark of magic zinging in her clipped back hair.

"What are you doing here, Riddle? How did you find me? How did you get in?" She demanded.

He tipped his head innocently and said, "Oh, is this meant to be a secret? So sorry," he smiled. "As for why I'm here, I thought perhaps you might want these back."

He dug into his robe pocket, drew back with his intended item and he threw it onto the parchment-covered table, uncaring if they should break, knowing they could be easily fixed with a spell.

He'd had her glasses in his pocket since Friday and he'd intended to return them when she came to him, only she didn't. So, he went to her instead. Perhaps she might feel more comfortable in her own environment.

"How did you get in?" She demanded, her eyes not straying from him.

"Ah, a story for another time," he waved her off, "When I heard you were unwell, I thought it best to check on you as it's not like you to miss classes. And I admit, I am also a little worried that I might have caught it as well, given what happened between us on Friday. What symptoms should I be looking for? Cowardice, perhaps?"

She glared at him, her lip twitching as though she were about to snarl at him like a feral dog.

"Nothing happened between us!" She snapped.

"No?" He arched a brow. "Because I seem to remember quite vividly what happened."

" _You_ kissed _me_ ," she argued.

"Ah, but I only intended for an innocent peck on the mouth. You're the one that seemed insistent that you fuck me in the alcove," he pointed out shamelessly. She didn't blush or stammer in outrage, something that he hadn't been expecting.

"And I've since come to realise that it was a mistake."

"No, you've come to realise that I speak the truth. You are mine. You belong to me."

"No, I don't. I am a human being, you can't and you don't own me. I will never be yours and I'll never give you what you wish."

He sighed. "Still so stubborn," he shook his head. "When are you going to admit it to yourself? The sooner, the better."

"No, Riddle. I'm done talking about this. Now get out of my private rooms or I'll tell _Dumbledore_ that you're harassing me."

His eyes narrowed into slits, knowing that she wasn't bluffing. He'd observed her interactions with Dumbledore and from what he could piece together, she was neither in favour of him nor did she despise him as he did. She was simply neutral. Neutral meant she could be swayed either way and if he pushed her too far, he could send her straight to Dumbledore and when that happened, he'd never have her under his control. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it.

"Fine, I shall leave," he slowly stood from the armchair and straightened his robes. "Oh, and I broke the curse," he informed her, removing the shrunken down book from his pocket, it sitting in his palm. "Twenty-three."

"Bluebell," she bit out, the book glowing blue in his hand and he smiled to himself, setting the book back in his pocket. Well, at least she was keeping to their unwritten contract.

"Thank you. Now, I expect you to return to classes tomorrow morning. We both know you are not ill and hiding away is something a coward would do, and I never pegged you as being the spineless type. Good night, Nilrem," he said as he took his leave. "Dream of me."

As the portrait closed behind him, he heard her shriek of outrage and the sound of a cushion colliding with the wall.

Well, that had gone swimmingly, he thought to himself.

"Did your visit lift her spirits?"

Tom turned to face the young girl and he gave her a smile. "It did indeed; she is feeling much better and believes she will be up to returning to classes tomorrow."

"That's brilliant," she beamed. "You are a great man, Tom Riddle, and Hermione needs you."

"I agree," he nodded, "She deserves the best," he smiled. "Good night."

Turning and leaving down the corridor, he decided to put a new plan into motion. Forcing her to feel and not think certainly didn't work, neither did his gestures of buying her things and he knew that arguing with her wouldn't work either. No, he had to try something else. It was time to pray on the big, ugly monster every witch had.

Jealousy.

~000~000~000~

**Wednesday 22nd November 1944**

Tom was glad to see that Nilrem had returned to classes the next morning, just as she attended breakfast in the great hall, valiantly ignoring his watchful gaze as she chose her breakfast items and sipped at her tea.

She'd ignored him during their shared classes no matter what he did or said, and he admitted, she was very good at it. She didn't falter even when he'd done his best to be annoying by jabbing his finger into her side repeatedly, quickly growing bored with her lack of response.

After dinner and watching what Nilrem ate, he saw her take her leave, knowing she was likely heading to the library, and he waited patiently.

When curfew approached, he deliberately positioned himself on the third floor and around the corner from her rooms, knowing she'd have to walk past him if she wished to return to the sanctuary of her dorm.

He'd had Nott and Rosier following her and the moment she packed up her belongings and took her leave from the library, they'd sent word that she was on the move and he'd put his plan into action.

Someone might think he was moving too quickly given they'd only spoken the evening before, but he was losing his patience and he wasn't entirely certain how much longer he'd be able to keep a lock on his temper.

He'd chosen the witch at random, a Half-blood Hufflepuff, one he knew most of his Knights had bedded and that meant it wouldn't have taken much to convince her to leave with him, well, no more than usual, after all, he was incredibly charming. He'd approached her in the corridors after dinner when she was alone; he didn't want any witnesses, only one in particular mattered.

After she'd agreed to take a walk with him through the castle, he'd gotten into position casually leaning against the wall, plastering a charming smile on his face and allowing his thoughts to wander as the witch talked about Merlin knows what, but he'd learned to act interested even when he wasn't paying attention.

The moment he'd heard Nilrem's footsteps approaching, he'd drawn closer to the witch, getting into her personal space and she fell silent, _finally_ , as he braced his arms against the wall on either side of her, caging her in and he lowered his head, muttering sweet nothings into her ear. She giggled and fiddled with the hem of her jumper, tilting her head slightly to give him access to her neck should he wish it.

He knew that it would infuriate Nilrem and as he leaned in closer to run the tip of his nose over her tanned skin, he paused. He couldn't bring himself to do it and a grimace pulled at his face, thankfully hidden from the witch. She didn't smell _right_.

This witch had doused herself in a floral-scented perfume, one that had his nose twitching and wishing to sneeze, something he fought against. Nilrem didn't wear perfume, he knew. She smelled sweet, the honey-scent of her skin being from either her wash products or perhaps a moisturiser or lotion, either way, it was pleasant and certainly not overwhelming to his senses, unlike the witch before him.

So, he couldn't do that. Perhaps he should kiss her? It wouldn't matter, he had every intention of _Obliviate_ 'ing her afterwards so no one would know. Yes, that would really get under Nilrem's skin.

As Nilrem's footsteps drew closer and he heard her humming to himself, his lifted his head from the witch's neck and brought it closer to hers. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttered closed and her head tipped back, offering her mouth to him in invitation. Only, when his eyes darted down to her lips, he saw they weren't chapped in the corner and they were stained pink. That wasn't right.

Nilrem was always free of makeup and he now knew she wore some kind of lip balm product that both smelled and tasted like strawberries, no doubt wizarding made. And when she'd worn makeup to Slughorn's party, her lips had been stained red, outlining the shape of her mouth. A mouth he'd kissed. A mouth he knew tasted like peppermint tea, as she often indulged in a cup after she'd finished eating dinner. Were most opted for pumpkin juice or water, she always opted for tea after her evening meal.

Shaking his head and telling himself it would infuriate Nilrem and bring her straight to him, he lowered his head and before his mouth pressed against the witch's, he paused. He sighed softly. He couldn't do it.

The witch opened her eyes, bright green staring up at him in both hope and confusion. It wasn't right. Nilrem's were the colour of his favourite chocolate treat, fiery when she was angry, half-lidded when flushed with desire, glossy after being snogged within an inch of her life, smug when she beat him by half a point on an assignment, amused when she landed a hit on him when they duelled, annoyed but also impressed when he broke the curses she fitted on her book.

Her hair was wild and untameable, soft ringlets that fell about her face and shoulders, her features soft and pretty, something that belied her true power and vindictiveness. The witch before him had blonde hair that had been magically curled at the tips and styled perfectly, sitting against her shoulders. So unlike Nilrem's.

 _Damn her_ , he thought a growl.

She'd ruined him for anyone else. He was certain he'd never be able to get near another witch without comparing them. He had to have her. Now.

"Is something wrong, Tom?" The witched asked him shyly.

What was her name again?

"Of course not," he offered her his most charming smile, his hand coming to her face, dragging a knuckle down her left cheek. "I only apologise, you are just so beautiful that I couldn't help myself. But you deserve better than stolen kisses in a dirty, unused corridor," he said.

She giggled, her head ducking and her cheeks tinting pink.

Salazar, where the hell was Nirlem? He wasn't certain how much longer he could continue with his charade.

And then right on cue, he heard her round the corner, her footsteps halting to a stop the moment she saw him. His mouth twitched but he forced back the smirk.

He stepped away from the witch, looking to Nilrem to see her expression being annoyingly blank, her eyes slowly taking in the sight before her. Sighing and shaking her head, she continued with her steps, stepping around them.

"Evening," she greeted, walking away.

Tom froze.

What?!

That had not been the reaction he'd been expecting.

Honestly, he'd been ready to conjure a shield to defend against her attack. He'd been ready to brace himself against the verbal lashing she'd give him. He'd been ready to watch her run away in a flood of angry tears. He'd been ready to catch her after she'd thrown herself at him, latching her mouth onto his and showing him why _she_ was the witch he wanted and needed.

He had not been ready to receive no reaction at all. What the hell was wrong with the witch? Was she not human? Salazar give him strength!

Gritting his teeth, he turned to the witch still leaning against the wall and within a matter of moments, he'd pressed his wand against her temple, erased her memory and replaced it with a memory of her simply taking a stroll through the castle alone, before sending her on her way. Turning on his heel, he quickly caught up with Nilrem, falling into step beside her.

"I am sorry you had to see that," he said.

She looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. Well, at least she was no longer ignoring his existence.

"And what exactly did I see? And really, a Hufflepuff? After our last experience with one?" She questioned.

"She's beautiful and incredibly smart," he defended.

She snorted. "What's her name?"

"Mary, Mary Phillips, Half-blood, seventh year," he replied confidently.

She halted to a stop and turned to face him, shifting her book in her arms before she reached up and pushed her glasses further up her nose. He really wanted to take them away from her. He preferred her without them but he supposed he could compromise. She would wear them in public to keep her innocent, unthreatening appearance, but when alone with him or his Knights, she wouldn't. He imagined it would bring him some amusement, knowing that all of them were scared of her in their own way, more so when she was without her glasses. It would be fun to conduct meetings with her in attendance, his Knights unable to focus due to their fear of her. It was astonishing how a simple pair of glasses altered people's perceptions of her.

Her mouth twitched and a light laugh left her as she shook her head. "Nice try, Riddle. Perhaps, do a background check first," she suggested. "Whilst she _is_ a Half-blood, her name is Cindy Morris, she's a sixth year and she's currently failing both charms _and_ astronomy."

 _Damn_ , he thought as she smirked at him. It was frightening and a downright disgrace that she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin no matter of her blood. She made a better Slytherin than half of the idiots in his house, and he'd know, being the last remaining blood relative. Morfin Gaunt, his pathetic excuse for an Uncle, wasn't worthy of calling himself a wizard or of sharing his blood.

"And what were you trying to achieve this evening?" She asked.

"I have no idea what you mean," he replied innocently.

"No, I'm sure you don't," she rolled her eyes. "Only, I find it a coincidence that you happen to be getting to know another witch only a few steps from my dorm and at the exact time I returned from the library. I give you points for effort, but next time, if you wish to make me jealous, I suggest you don't."

"You're not jealous?" He arched an eyebrow.

Something flashed in her eyes that belied her answering sweet smile.

"No. You see, Riddle, in order for me to be jealous, I'd first have to care about you."

With that, she continued with her steps, leaving him staring after her.

Damn her!

~000~000~000~

**Friday 24th November 1944**

Sitting on a bench in the courtyard, Hermione was not only allowing herself five minutes of fresh air before she headed to her next lesson of the day, she was taking the opportunity to examine those around her.

Most had already eaten their lunch and were using the remainder of their lunch hour to socialise with their friends before they were expected at their afternoon classes. She sat alone, bundled in her cloak with a knitted white scarf keeping her neck and ears warm in the cold winds. Her satchel lay on her lap and she held a book out before her, only, she wasn't reading the words before her.

She had a plan and she needed someone to help her. More specifically, she needed a wizard.

She'd known Riddle was up to something the moment she'd stepped into their first shared class of the day on Wednesday, and it had been exceptionally hard to ignore him, his comments, actions and his very existence, refusing to rise to the bait. He wanted a reaction from her and so she gave him the opposite. And though she had been deliberately ignoring him, that didn't mean she hadn't seen the wicked gleam in his eyes, as if he knew something she didn't, as if he was planning something. And the moment she'd left the library that evening as curfew approached, she'd known what he'd been intending when she rounded the corner and saw him whispering into the giggling witch's ear.

Forcing her didn't work, charming her didn't work, buying her things didn't work and so he'd moved onto jealousy. He'd been trying to make her jealous.

And she'd been furious to learn it had worked. She _had_ been jealous and she wasn't entirely certain why. The green monster had reared its ugly head, her stomach twisting and knotting painfully, bile rising in her throat, her blood boiling in fury, and she knew the feeling quite well given her 'will they, won't they?' relationship with Ronald, something that had lasted for several years before she'd finally realised that he was never going to admit his feelings and the moment he'd chosen Lavender Brown over her was the moment she knew she would never and could never be anything more than a friend. Years had passed since (both physically and not, given how long she'd spent with her father in a state of neither living nor dead) and she hadn't felt that emotion until Riddle's little scheme.

Luckily, she'd been able to compose herself and mask her emotions before he 'noticed' her appearance, but Hermione was confident he'd been waiting for her; she'd seen Nott and Rosier lurking about the library, neither of them holding a single book in their grasp for more than five minutes and they always had their eyes focused in her direction. With all of the following of her Riddle made them do, it was a wonder they even managed to complete their homework.

When she'd returned to the sanctuary of her dorm room, (and she still hadn't figured out how Riddle had gotten in or discovered her rooms, but she'd been sure to change the password the moment he'd left) she was ashamed to admit that she might have thrown a little bit of a temper tantrum, accidentally setting the armchair on fire before she quickly extinguished it and then hugged Bear to her, having startled the little creature.

She'd slumped onto the couch, Athena coming over to greet her and she'd glowered at the floor for a good hour or so before she decided retribution was in order. She spent the following day ignoring Riddle, attending her classes and putting a plan together, and that brought her to now.

She was usually a good judge of character (the Hufflepuff incident was to never be spoken of again) and from what she could gather, Riddle was a highly possessive man when she was involved, his reaction to her dancing with Sal at Slughorn's party being a prime example. For that reason, she had to be careful with who she chose to help her.

She refused to use anyone below sixth year for personal reasons; she did not want to snog a sixteen-year-old, not when she was eighteen, (nineteen if one counted the use of the time-turner her third year) and given that she'd spent 'years' with her father, preparing for her mission. She also refused to use a Hufflepuff, once again, for personal reasons. Slytherins were out of the question knowing that Riddle had all but staked his claim on her and they were too afraid of him to ever be seen within twenty feet of her. She knew she'd never be able to convince a Ravenclaw to help her; they avoided her and pretended as though she didn't even exist and that was just fine with her, she didn't care. And by default, that only left Gryffindors.

Her eyes strayed across the courtyard, spying a group of five Gryffindor wizards laughing and roughhousing. She recognised one or two of them from some of her classes but the others she'd only seen when passing in the corridors.

As if sensing her stare, one of the laughing wizards twisted to look over his shoulder, his eyes scanning his surroundings before they landed on her. He arched a questioning eyebrow, his mouth twitching in amusement when she stared back unflinchingly.

He turned back to his friends and a few moments later he was throwing his school bag over his shoulder and approaching her, his mouth pulled into a cocky smirk.

 _Well_ , thought Hermione, _he certainly has the confidence. But would he have the courage?_

Stopping before her, he stared down at her, folding his arms over his chest. His hair was a dark red, his skin pale with a smattering of freckles over his cheeks. He was remarkably tall though not so tall as Riddle, and given his broad shoulders and expanse of muscle hidden beneath his clothing, she wouldn't be surprised if he was a Quidditch player for Gryffindor house.

"Yes?" Hermione questioned.

His mouth twitched. "I saw you staring at me," he remarked.

"Yes, well, I didn't hide it, did I?"

He smirked at her, a smirk worthy of any Slytherin. His turquoise eyes glittered with mischief and she felt a tug on her heart, knowing who he was the moment she saw them. He was the paternal grandfather of her favourite Beater, and whilst she'd not been in love with him, she'd been fond of him, she'd cared for him and she treasured him as one of her closest friends, knowing he'd felt the same. Their relationship was purely sexual, an agreement to shag each other's brains out when things got too much and they needed a distraction, when they just needed to forget for a little while. But with that came the aspect of trust. She trusted him more than most, she'd trusted him with secrets she'd never dared to share with Harry and Ron.

She hadn't realised how much she missed him until that very moment. She was sure she'd never have a relationship quite like it again and she reminded herself that it was best not to dwell on it. She had her mission and if she succeeded, they would all be safe.

"I'm Septimus, Septimus Weasley," he introduced. "Seventh year, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and the best Keeper in the school."

"My, that is quite the title," she replied. "Do you introduce yourself like that to everyone you meet?"

He smiled down at her. "Only the pretty witches, got to impress them, haven't I?"

Her lip twitched before she snapped her book shut and stood to her feet, adjusting the strap of her satchel on her shoulder and holding her book against her chest.

"Hermione, Hermione Nilrem," she greeted.

"Oh, I know who you are," he chuckled. "You've caused quite the stir amongst the witches since your transfer."

She sighed quietly. That was Riddle's doing, not hers.

"So it would seem," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Might I ask why you were staring at me so intently?" He questioned, giving her a look that said he already knew why.

"I suppose... Walk with me?" She tipped her head towards the castle. He nodded and silently they left the cold courtyard and stepped into the only slightly warmer castle, walking the corridors. "First of all, I have two questions for you. Actually, three, I have _three_ questions for you."

"And they are?" He tipped his head.

"Are you currently involved with another witch?"

"Meaning?" He arched an eyebrow, his mouth twitching.

"You know exactly what I mean," she replied, giving him an annoyed glance that made him chuckle.

"No, and neither am I betrothed," he replied with a dramatic wink.

Strange, she thought, knowing that Arthur Weasley was to be born in more than six years.

And after seeing his wink, she rolled her eyes. Well, now she knew why the Weasley Twins were so damn mischievous; between their Uncles Fabian and Gideon Prewett, and their Grandfather, Septimus, it seemed only fitting.

"I have no intention of coercing you into a betrothal," she replied.

"Shame," he shook his head.

"Secondly, would you describe yourself a decent kisser?"

He halted in his steps, Hermione pausing a few ahead of him and she turned to face him, seeing his bright eyes and mischievous smirk.

"And why would you ask such a question?"

"That doesn't matter. Why won't you _answer_ the question?"

"Well, I've never had any complaints," he responded with a shrug and Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

"And my final, question. Are you afraid of Tom Riddle?"

Both eyebrows rose high on his forehead, disappearing beneath the shaggy hair that spilt over his forehead.

"No."

"Good," she smiled to herself. "Then I have a proposition for you."

"Oh, and I'm to assume it has something to do with Riddle, given your line of questioning? What's he done to you?"

"Excuse me?" She blinked in surprise.

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"Well, it's widely speculated that you're Riddle's girlfriend, something I find highly bizarre, and the only reason you'd ask me the questions you have is if you're planning to do something you hope will either upset or anger him."

 _Well, that was quite intuitive of him_ , she thought.

"Despite what rumours you may have heard, and I don't care if they came from Riddle himself, I am _not_ his girlfriend. He's a giant pain in my side, he's overly confident that I'm simply being stubborn and will soon turn and run to him, begging for his affection and protection, when I most certainly won't. And now, seeing as he won't take my words to heart, I feel it time I _show_ him my intentions."

"Great plan," he remarked, "Only, if you're planning to do what I think you're planning to do, I'm quite certain it will backfire. I wouldn't be surprised if Riddle's anger and jealousy lead him to something dangerous. You must be careful. He's not a nice man. He might have everyone else fooled but not me."

"I assure you, I know exactly the type of man he is, more than most. But I also know that he would never harm me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he replied, giving her a look of concern.

"I am," she said confidently. "Riddle and I have somewhat of an understanding. Should he raise his wand to me or a hand, I will respond in kind. I am quite capable of defending myself, something Riddle knows."

"I've seen, I witnessed your duel with him in DADA before Dumbledore interrupted, and I've got to say, I've never seen anyone match him as you did."

"I've had plenty of practice," she muttered before continuing, "And here you are warning me against Riddle, yet you are not afraid of him?"

"No, you've never met my mother. I find her more frightening than Riddle."

"Ah, I knew a woman just as terrifying," Hermione replied, a fond smile tugging at her mouth at the reminder of Mrs. Weasley. Kind, overly judgemental and downright frightening. "So, would like to hear my proposal?" He eyed her cautiously before nodding. "It's quite simple, you help me with this and I'll owe you a favour, and I am quite well connected."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," she replied firmly. "If you want front row seats to the next Quidditch World Cup Final, I can get them for you. If you want access to the latest broom model before it hits the shelves, I can get it for you. If you want to fake an illness to get out of class for a day or two, I can help you."

"Okay, I help you and I can ask you for anything?"

"Anything that is reasonable," she clarified.

His mouth twitched in amusement. "Your definition of what is reasonable or mine?"

"Mine," she replied, narrowing her eyes slightly and he held his hands up in surrender.

"Fair enough," he conceded. "So, this proposition, I'm going to assume it's having Riddle 'stumble' upon us snogging after curfew."

"Yes, it's quite simple," she nodded.

"Okay," he shrugged.

She eyed him cautiously. "Are you certain you wish to do this?"

He arched an eyebrow. "What? Snog a pretty witch and being owed a favour for doing something I'd have done without incentive?"

She pursed her lips. "And you are certain you are not afraid of Riddle? Whilst I know he will never harm me, you are not so safe. He will make your life a living hell."

"I can take care of myself," he waved off her concerns. "Riddle doesn't scare me."

"He should," she muttered before holding her hand out. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," he nodded, slipping his larger hand around hers and shaking on it. "When and where?"

"Tonight, just before curfew. Meet me on the fifth floor by the prefect's bathroom. Riddle always starts his rounds on seventh floor whilst Danvers starts in the dungeons and they meet in the middle."

"See you there," he winked, pushing away from the wall and heading to his next class.

Smiling to herself, Hermione spun on her heel and did the same.

~000~000~000~

"What took you so long? He's going to be here any minute," Hermione whisper-hissed.

"Sorry," he gave her a sheepish smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's Friday, I got distracted. It's hard to make excuses and ditch the guys without them wanting to know where I'm going after curfew."

"Did you tell them?"

"No, I didn't think you'd want anyone to know."

"Right, good, thank you," she nodded. Her eyes darted down the corridor. "Let's go," she said, leading the way to an abandoned classroom that looked as though it hadn't been used in decades.

As she stepped inside, the motion of the door opening created a cloud of dust that forced her into a sneeze. Scowling, she drew her wand and with a swish of her wrist, the dust and cobwebs vanished from the classroom. Nodding to herself, she took a moment to light the torches with firelight and then she stepped further into the room with Septimus following her and leaving the door slightly ajar, something that was to attract Riddle's attention.

"What do you think? The professor's desk?" Asked Hermione, moving towards it and she reached out, setting her hands against the surface and pressing her body weight against it, finding it sturdy.

"Perfect," he agreed with a nod.

Silently, she hopped up onto the desk, readjusting her skirt and folding her ankles daintily. He approached and leaned back against the desk beside her, folding his arms over his chest, Hermione noticing that he was without both his robes and blazer, only sporting his jumper for warmth. His tie was loosened at the knot and his shirt parted with the first two buttons undone.

"Are you certain you wish to do this?" Hermione checked. "I'll do my best to protect you from Riddle's backlash, but I know there is only so much I can do."

He waved her off and snorted. "Don't worry about it. I'm not afraid of him and to be honest, he's a git, I've been looking for a way to get under his skin for years. Uncharacteristically, he's taken an interest in you, not that you're not great or pretty and smart, of course, because you are, but because it's _Riddle_. He's never taken an interest in anyone the way he has you."

"So I've been told," she sighed. "Well, I wish you luck and I'd lay low over the weekend, just in case. Riddle's incredibly clever, don't forget that."

"Hmmm," he hummed, as if he didn't quite believe her.

Whilst he'd admitted he didn't think Riddle to be the man everyone else saw, Hermione knew that Septimus had no idea how truly twisted the wizard was, and neither did he know what he was capable of. Once this was over, she only hoped that whatever he wished to ask of her was truly important or life-changing for it to be worth the trouble he was about to face.

Reaching up to readjust her glasses, she couldn't wait until she returned to the privacy of her dorm and was able to remove them, the bridge of her nose having long since begun to ache with soreness of the uncomfortable frames rubbing over her skin.

Her hand halted mid-air as she made to lower it to her lap, when she heard the echoing of footsteps carrying down the hallway. Reaching for her wand, she cast a Time Charm, seeing that Riddle was right on time. Slipping her wand back into her pocket, she turned to look at Septimus, seeing that he'd stood taller, obviously hearing the same thing she did.

"Ready?" She asked him.

His mouth twitched into a smirk. "Are _you_ ready?" He echoed cockily.

Sighing, she reached out, fisted her hand into his jumper and tugged him forward, his cocky smile falling from his mouth, his eyes widening slightly and a noise of surprise falling from his mouth, only for it to be muffled when she reached up and pressed her mouth against his. He recovered quickly, one hand settling on her hip and the other curling around the back of her neck and he moved to stand before her, making it so his body wasn't twisted uncomfortably.

As Hermione did her best to act as though she was enjoying herself immensely, something that would infuriate Riddle, she couldn't help but notice that the lips pressed against hers weren't as soft as Riddle's. She couldn't help but notice the grip on her hip wasn't nearly as tight, or that his calloused fingers (from years of flying a broom and playing Quidditch, no doubt) weren't nearly as soft as Riddle's, and neither did he grip her hair and pull as Riddle did.

She noticed that he tasted of mint and whiskey whilst Riddle had tasted of chocolate and pumpkin juice. She noticed that he smelled of broom polish and sandalwood and though it was by no means bad or unattractive, it didn't have the same effect as Riddle's dark, citrusy scent; he smelt powerful and intoxicating.

His magic didn't brush against hers, he didn't excite her, he didn't have her going light-headed nor was there any spark of desire within in her.

His kiss, it didn't elicit the same thoughts, feelings or response from her. Septimus was certainly not a bad kisser, he was actually rather good as he tugged and pulled at her lips with his own, something she was certain would have any other witch going weak-kneed, but to her, it elicited nothing.

The moment Riddle's mouth had pressed against hers, she'd been lost to everything around her, she hadn't been able to focus or think, only feel what he was doing to her, what he was making her feel. And she didn't wish to admit it, but she'd felt free. Free of expectation. Free of her mission. Free of her memories. It had felt good. No, it had felt wonderful, intoxicating, addictive.

Her kiss with Septimus didn't feel... Right. It was wrong and uncomfortable.

And that's when she realised that from that point on, no matter who she looked at, spoke to or had a relationship with, she would always compare them to Riddle. It was at that moment when she realised that Riddle had ruined her with a single kiss.

Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, in her anger, she tugged Septimus closer and her other hand shifted until it buried in his hair, the strands tangling around her fingers. Furiously noting that whilst his hair was soft, it didn't have that silky quality to it that Riddle's did, she tugged harshly, hearing Septimus' hiss of pain but she ignored it in favour of snogging him furiously, taking her anger out on the wizard before her, something she knew he didn't deserve but she couldn't help it.

He drew back suddenly, his eyes opening, looking a little glassy with his pupils blown wide.

" _I_ was _not_ ready," he panted, staring down at her heatedly.

Whilst she felt no desire for him, not even a tiny, minuscule spark ( _fucking, Riddle_ , she thought angrily), she was quite aware of the growing hardness hidden in his trousers, something she knew hadn't been the intention of either of them.

Silently cursing, (why wasn't Riddle there yet? She didn't know how much longer she could do this for) she tugged him back to her, latching her mouth onto his.

He didn't seem to notice that she was not enjoying herself as much as he clearly was, something she felt guilty over, after all, it wasn't his fault. It was Riddle's.

She focused on counting the seconds as they ticked by, reaching seventeen before she finally heard the slight creak of the door as it swung open, and she felt it the moment he stepped inside.

His magic furiously swarming and filling the classroom, making it stuffy and tense. It tussled her hair and robes, it brushed against her skin but unlike the other times when it was gentle, even comforting, now she felt herself flinch as an electric current seemed to pass over her. She'd never felt his magic so furious. Not when she challenged him, not when she'd been drugged and not when she'd been ambushed. He was positively _murderous_. She didn't need to look to know that.

Drawing back from Septimus and thanking God that it was over whilst also silently apologising for the thought, he panted, his chest rising and falling, his fingers digging into her neck and hip.

"Shit," he breathed. "You snog like the bloody devil," he said, staring down at her.

"What is going on here?" Riddle's voice cut to them.

Hermione startled, drawing her hands back and smoothing down her robes and skirt whilst Septimus stepped back from her, reluctantly releasing her from his hold and he subtly adjusted his trousers before his hand came up to rake through his hair and he turned to face Riddle.

Hermione darted her eyes to him, seeing his expression being remarkably calm. But she knew him. Where Septimus saw calm, she saw murderous fury. His eyes were dark and cold, filled with fury and promises of pain. His body was tall and taut, his back and shoulders straight, and his wand held in his hand down by his side, his knuckles whitening under his tight grip. His mouth was set into a hard line, Hermione seeing the tick of his jaw.

"Oh, hello, Riddle," said Septimus shamelessly. "Sorry about breaking curfew, but you know, I couldn't help myself," he shrugged.

Riddle looked about ready to kill him with his bare hands and in order to distract him and stop it from happening, Hermione hopped off the table until her feet hit the ground and she adjusted her glasses on her nose, drawing his attention.

"Yes, incredibly sorry, Riddle," she said, both of them knowing she was far from it.

His eyes darted to Septimus, "Get back to your common room. You'll have detention with Dumbledore and I'm taking three hundred points."

"It was worth it," Septimus winked at Hermione before slipping his hands into his pockets and waltzing out of the classroom, having to physically step around Riddle as he refused to move out of the way. "See you later, Nilrem. Riddle," he tipped his head in farewell before stepping into the corridor, his steps echoing and his cheerful whistle filling the silence.

"Well, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to retire for the evening, it's getting late," she said.

Only, before she was able to take her leave, Riddle was before her, towering over her, his hands pressing against the surface of the desk behind her, forcing her to lean back as he caged her in.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously, his magic which filled the room drew closer to him, it growing thicker and heavier as it swarmed her, Hermione being forced to take deeper breaths under the pressure of it.

"I thought that was obvious, I was simply enjoying some time with a wizard I happen to like."

"Don't lie to me," he snarled, his anger only intensifying when she blinked, unphased by his temper. "If I hadn't of found you, you would've fucked him? You would've given him something that is not yours to give. Something that is mine."

A gasp of outrage fell from Hermione's mouth, understanding his meaning when his eyes briefly flickered down to her skirt. She brought her hands up to his chest and with as much force as she was capable of mustering, she shoved him back and away from her, Riddle blinking slowly in surprise at the action.

She stood tall, one hand balled into a fist down her side and the other raised, her finger pointing threateningly at him.

"How dare you!" She growled furiously. "How _fucking_ dare you! It is _my_ body, not yours. And I do with it as I please. And I am _not_ a whore. As for my _gift_ , it is not yours to take or claim for yourself. And I must inform you, you are too late."

"What!?" He hissed, taking a threatening step towards her.

She didn't back down and she held her ground. "You heard me and I am unsure if I should be flattered and offended by your reaction."

"You're not a virgin?" He pressed.

"No, I'm not," she confirmed.

"How many?" He demanded. "How many, Nilrem?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but one."

"How many times?"

"I don't know, I didn't keep count. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to return to my dorm. Goodnight."

She stepped around him and approached the doorway, only she paused and drew her wand, lobbing a Stinging Hex over her shoulder. Riddle, being furiously distracted by her recent confession, failed to notice it and it him on the arse.

He hissed and spun to face her, glaring at her murderously, his grip tightening on his wand, looking about ready to hex her.

"Don't ever put your hands on me in such a way again without my permission," she warned.

"What!" He snapped in confusion.

"The slap to my arse last week."

He rolled his eyes. "It was only a bit of fun, a joke."

"Perhaps for you, but I did not appreciate it. I have had enough of men touching me as they wish."

His anger seemed to simmer as his brow furrowed in confusion.

"This is about Carrow and Macmillan," he surmised.

"Not entirely," she admitted. "I have had others attempt me harm in such a way before."

"What!" He snarled, his anger making a reappearance, only this time it was _for_ her and not _because_ of her.

She sighed and looked down at the ground. "When my father and I were running from Grindelwald, before his death we found ourselves separated and I stumbled into some trouble. That's all you need to know."

"What..."

Hermione didn't allow him to finish as she spun on her heel and left the room, heading to her dorm.

After a quick greeting to the young girl in the portrait and a goodnight, she stepped into her dorm, being greeted by an excitable puffskein and her phoenix. Taking a few moments to sit with them, she'd soon set Bear in the little den she'd made him, the little creature snuggling into the blankets and against the stuffed bear she'd transfigured, him quickly falling asleep. Chuckling, she pet Athena on the head and then crossed to her bathroom, stripping from her uniform and jumping under the spray of the hot shower.

Once she was satisfied that she'd scrubbed her body clean and that she hadn't accidentally missed a section when shaving her legs, she climbed out, dried and dressed in her nightclothes before going over to the sink and brushing her teeth.

Halfway through her routine, she paused, having heard a noise, the sound of the fire roaring to life. Her mouth twitching into a smile, realising her father had come for a visit, she stepped out of the bathroom with her toothbrush still in her mouth, wishing to inform her father she'd be but a moment longer. Only, when she saw who was waiting for her, she froze in both surprise and annoyance.

How the hell had he gotten in? _Again_!

~000~000~000~

It hadn't taken long for Tom to come to understand what Nilrem's intentions had been. She'd tried to cover it but he knew her and the flash of victory in her eyes had been difficult to miss.

She held no interest in Weasley, she'd simply used him for her own purpose, for her plot of revenge. And upon this realisation, he came to another. She was doing it to make him jealous, just as he'd done to her. She'd lied to him. She _had_ been jealous. He'd seen the flash of it in her eyes that Wednesday night.

When he'd seen her, her hands fisted in Weasley's hair and robes, her mouth latched on to his, never before had his anger built so quickly. Like a switch, he'd flipped from calm and incredibly bored to murderously livid. He'd wanted to kill them both. And he almost had, the words had been on the tip of his tongue, the only thing that had stopped him being her expressively smug eyes.

He'd waited a few moments after she'd left the classroom before following her lead, continuing with his patrols as quickly as possible, thankfully finding the corridors and the usually occupied alcoves, classrooms and broom cupboards empty, making it a quiet night. At the end of his patrol, he hadn't returned to the Slytherin dorms, instead, he'd doubled back to Nilrem's rooms.

The little girl in the portrait wasn't prancing and dancing as he'd expected, rather, she was seated on the ground, her legs tucked beneath her with a floral crown sat atop her head as she focused her attention on making what looked to be a floral bracelet.

"Hello, Tom Riddle," she greeted with a smile, lifting her eyes to him.

"Hello," he smiled charmingly. "Corvum Nigrum."

Her smile fell from her face and her eyes saddened.

"Corvum Nigrum," he repeated when the portrait remained firmly in place.

"I am sorry, Tom Riddle, that is the incorrect password."

"Excuse me?" He questioned in surprise.

"Hermione changed the password after your last visit. She said she didn't want slimy, smarmy, slithering prats to have unlimited access to her private sanctuary," she quoted.

Tom's jaw clenched and he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. _Of course, she'd changed the bloody password,_ he thought. In all honesty, he's should've known she'd do so.

"Can you not tell me what it is?" He asked. "I am, after all, Head Boy, and I am entitled to know the passwords to all common rooms and dorms."

She smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, this was once a professor's quarters and is therefore not listed as a student dorm. For that reason, you are not expected to know the password, nor are you entitled to it. As the keeper of these quarters, I am forbidden from revealing the secret to anyone. Only Hermione is able to reveal the password to you, in which, you may then enter."

He grumbled under his breath. He could work around that.

"You are not able to specifically tell me the password, but might you be able to perhaps offer a hint? Something that might allow me to guess the password? It is imperative that I speak with her now."

She frowned and set the unfinished floral bracelet aside. "One moment please," she said, disappearing from the portrait. Tom groaned in annoyance and raked a hand through his hair. She returned approximately two minutes later. "I have spoken with the elder keepers and I am able to offer you one hint only, Tom Riddle."

"Thank you," he tipped his head. "And the hint?" He pressed.

Her brow furrowed in thought. "The name of her previous familiar."

Tom's eyebrows drew upwards. What? He didn't even know _what_ her familiar was, let alone its damn name. And he certainly hadn't known that her current familiar wasn't her first. Had she ever mentioned having a second familiar? Tom scoured his mind, replaying all of their conversations and interactions since meeting her.

And as he did so, something jumped out at him. It wasn't a conversation, rather, Nilrem muttering to herself during one of the times he'd been deliberately annoying her, not long after she'd arrived at Hogwarts.

The reason it stood out was that it was such an odd thing for her to say.

If he was remembering correctly, her words had been _"If only Crookshanks were here right now, the little terror would bite him and never let go, hopefully, he'd leave a little_ gift _in his bloody shower,"_ she'd muttered with fondness.

Lifting his eyes from the stone floor and to the young girl's hopeful expression, he said,

"Crookshanks?"

She beamed at him. "Well done, Tom Riddle. You truly must be special to Hermione. She has told no one about her late familiar, a half-kneazle that was aggressive towards everyone but his mistress. Unfortunately, when she bought him from the menagerie, he had already been old in age and he passed several years later," she said sadly. "Oh, it is getting late. I should settle for the night. Once I do, you may leave but I will not open the portrait until tomorrow morning."

"Good night," he tipped his head, stepping into Nilrem's room and the portrait closing behind him.

His eyes darted about in the limited lighting of the torches, not seeing her but he heard the telltale sound of the shower running. Deciding to wait for her to emerge, no matter how long that may be, he crossed to the armchair, noting with some surprise that it appeared to be charred in some areas. Eyeing it curiously, wondering the cause behind it, with a flick of his wand he had it returned to its previous undamaged state and he took a seat, making himself comfortable.

For the first time, he noticed the photos positioned in the room, some moving and some not. His eyes were drawn to the larger two that sat above the stone fireplace and he squinted his eyes to better see in the dimly lit room. Sighing to himself, he lit the fireplace with a flick of his wand, it offering more light and warming the chilly room.

He eyed the first photo curiously, seeing Nilrem surrounded by an alarming number of redheads, a boy with ridiculously black messy hair, an older man with sandy hair and a moustache and a man he would swear could be a relative of the Blacks with his grey eyes and black, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders. He noted there were only three females, Nilrem, a younger-looking redhead and an older redheaded woman who stood beside an older redheaded man, them clearly being the parents of the other redheads.

He didn't pay much attention to their face as his eyes were soon drawn to the second photo, it showing Nilrem wearing a dress similar to the one the young girl in the portrait did, and she was in a meadow, curiously, also similar to the one in the portrait. But she wasn't alone, there was a man, a young-looking man with eyes the colour of chocolate, brown hair that curled at the tips and Tom noticed a similarity in their smiles. There was no denying that this man was her father. Her father that had been killed for being too powerful.

He watched curiously, wondering what had been happening the moment the photo was taken as they were huddled close together, sat on the ground and laughing, Nilrem looking close to tears and her father looking as though he were going to fall onto his back.

He knew that wizards lived longer than muggles and therefore they aged at a slower rate, and even after taking that into account, this man, he looked no older than thirty. That would've made him around the age of thirteen or fourteen when Nilrem had been born. Not entirely impossible, of course, but exceptionally unlikely. _Strange_ , he mused. There was a story there, he could feel it.

Hearing footsteps, he drew his eyes from the photo, spying Nilrem stepping out of her bathroom, a smile on her face, her hair clipped back and a toothbrush in her mouth. He couldn't help but stare in surprise. Bathed by the firelight, she looked stunning. From what he could see, she wore a pale lilac robe made of silk, it being securely fasted with the tie and hiding everything from view, but it only fell to mid-thigh, showing the expanse of her pale skin. His eyes moved lower, travelling down her thighs, over her knees and shins and down to her dainty ankles and bare feet.

As his eyes drew back to her face, his gaze somewhat heated and darker, he saw the smile falling from her face. Noting her expression, it almost seemed as though she'd been expecting someone and it most certainly wasn't him. He felt the heat of desire within him transform into anger. She'd been expecting someone late at night and she was wearing _that_? Someone that obviously knew the password.

"Riddle?" She mumbled around her toothbrush. "What're you doing here? How'd you get in? You know what..." She sighed, shaking her head. "Give me a minute."

She turned and headed back into the bathroom, reappearing moments later sans toothbrush and with toothpaste no longer painting the corners of her mouth. She silently padded over to the couch, taking a seat and tugging the hideous knitted blanket over her lap, more so for warmth than to protect her modesty, he thought. She neither looked uncomfortable nor embarrassed that he'd seen her so improperly dressed, something he admitted was a pleasing thought.

"How did you get in here? I changed the password."

"Who are you expecting?" He countered, avoiding the question.

She rolled her eyes, "No one."

"I don't believe you, I saw the expression on your face. When you saw me you were disappointed."

"I wasn't expecting anyone, it was a reflex reaction. I simply heard a noise that reminded me of my father and when I stepped out of the bathroom, I was expecting to see him, something I know is silly but I sometimes forget he is no longer here."

He observed her carefully, looking for any tell that she was lying to him. He couldn't see it. That meant she was either telling the truth or she was a good liar; he chose to believe the former.

"That him?" He gestured to the fireplace with a tip of his head, his eyes remaining locked on hers.

"Yes," she replied, a fond smile pulling at her mouth as her eyes darted towards the photo. A fondness that could only be seen between a child and their parent. "Now, what are you doing here? How did you get in?" She echoed.

His mouth tugged into a smirk as he leaned further into cushions of the armchair. "I walked in, obviously."

She narrowed her eyes. "I changed the password to something no one but me would know."

"I thought it best we talk," he stated, once more avoiding the topic.

"About?" She pressed, looking annoyed that he was refusing to answer her questions but she'd accepted it, making herself more comfortable on the couch. She pulled her feet up beneath her and leaned against the armrest, her head being propped up by her hand and her elbow sat on the armrest.

"It's time we stopped playing games," said Tom, seeing her arched eyebrow. "We are not children. We are mature, intelligent people who are perfectly capable of holding a conversation."

"About?" She repeated.

"Us," he answered simply.

"There is no 'us'."

He sighed softly and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I am tiring of this childish behaviour, admittedly, on both sides. You claim to not care, but you and I both know you do. I admit, you were good at masking your true emotions, but for a brief moment, I saw it. You _were_ jealous."

She pursed her lips in annoyance. "As were you," she jibed.

"I am not disputing that."

"You're not?" Her brow furrowed in surprise and confusion.

"No, you are mine. It is only right that I be jealous when you..."

"No, I'm not," she interrupted.

"Yes, you are," he said knowingly, confidently. "It's time, Hermione." She blinked in surprise at his use of her given name. It wasn't spoken to annoy her, mock her or throw her off guard. It was spoken as though it was the most natural thing in the world, her name falling from his mouth. "It's time for you to admit it to yourself. You can't fool me. You want me. You need me."

She sighed and shifted, readjusting the blanket over her lap, her eyes closing for a moment as she visibly controlled her breathing.

Could she do it? Could she admit it to herself? She supposed she already had, somewhat, during her time snogging Septimus. No man or wizard would ever compare to Riddle and the effect he had on her.

She'd spent days trying to organise her thoughts, trying to process what she knew and what she didn't wish to admit. She had to let go of the opinions of others and as painful as it was, she had to forget Harry, Ron and the others. Their opinions didn't matter. They were dead in one life and not yet born in another. Hermione was alone and only she could make her decisions. Only she could live with the repercussions, should they occur.

Riddle was right, she begrudgingly admitted. They were being childish and she knew she was stubborn.

Opening her eyes, she saw him watching her, his ice-blue gaze examining her expression, no doubt trying to figure out what she was thinking and what her next words or action might be. She knew it infuriated him that he couldn't read her mind, that he had to discover her secrets by physically working for it rather than simply slipping into her mind for a moment or two and withdrawing with everything he wanted to know.

As he examined her, she did the same, trying to convince herself that she was about to make the right decision.

She supposed, he _did_ listen to her even when he appeared as though he wasn't. The incident involving Bear evidenced that. He'd bought her a puffskein when he had no reason to, but she did suspect it had been part of some plan to 'woo' her. He was protective of her, evidenced in the way he'd reacted and responded to her drugging and her ambush. He was intelligent. He challenged her mentally in a way no other had before, he kept her mind sharp and he kept her engaged. And she admitted that he wasn't a complete monster, not yet.

He'd always been respectful of her (aside from that slap to the arse, of course) and he always stepped back when she asked him to. He'd had several opportunities to take advantage of her when she'd been vulnerable, and he hadn't. He had his limits. He was not a complete monster, she told herself. She knew he was a murderer and he didn't hesitate to resort to torture, but if she was to take that into account and rightfully so, she had to apply those things to herself as well.

She had killed people. Perhaps not in cold blood, but she'd still taken lives, for her survival, for the survival of others and in revenge. What she did to Carrow and Macmillan... Whilst she'd not used the Cruciatus, she _had_ tortured them.

She and Riddle, they were both powerful, the last living heir of powerful, legendary wizards of history. They were both orphans, they were both willing to do whatever they had to in order to achieve their goals. They were both intelligent and hiding their true selves from the masses. They were more alike than anyone had a right to be.

And whilst he was twisted in the head, she'd taken the advice of her father and Sal. Riddle was misguided and misinformed, and if she could change that, she knew she should. It was what the world needed. She might be sacrificing herself, selling her soul to the devil, so to speak, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd given everything for the safety of others. She had the power to change Riddle and in turn, change the world.

And it was just sex, right? She highly doubted a relationship would form between, not with Riddle's thoughts on love and affection. But she'd done this before, hadn't she? She could handle it. She would be sacrificing her right to a future, to happiness, but she'd be doing it for the world. If she didn't receive Sainthood status after her death, she'd be giving the Elders of the world a piece of her mind. They owed her massively.

"Riddle..."

"Tom," he corrected.

She blinked slowly in surprise, his expression daring her to argue with him.

"Tom," she cleared her throat before making to continue, only she was interrupted when a squawk sounded from her bedroom and Hermione's eyes fluttered closed and her jaw ticked when Athena soared into the room, landing on the back of the couch by her shoulder, her black, beady eyes watching Riddle suspiciously and her large wings flapping madly.

"Calm," soothed Hermione, her eyes opening as she reached up to run her fingers through the overprotective phoenix's feathers, Athena soon settling but her gaze remained on Riddle.

She turned her eyes to him, seeing his surprised expression, the wizard unable to hide it from her.

"What is Dumbledore's phoenix doing here?" Riddle demanded, his expression morphing from surprise to anger and suspicion, his eyes darting between her and Athena, the phoenix squawking in protest at being confused for another.

"Calm down," she sighed. "She's not Dumbledore's phoenix, she'd _mine_."

"What?" He snapped.

She rolled her eyes and leaned back into the couch. "She is mine. This is Athena, my familiar."

His anger and suspicion slowly faded, once more returning to surprise and confusion.

"You have a _phoenix_ as a familiar?"

She sniggered, understanding his difficulty processing the news. Phoenix's were highly independent and suspicious creatures, not to mention, almost extinct. It was exceptionally rare for one to bond with a human given their distrustful natures, but they were highly loyal creatures. Once bonded, they remained loyal until death. Dumbledore was widely known for having Fawkes as his familiar, and it was the reason she'd been cautious about people discovering her own phoenix familiar. One bonding was almost unheard of let alone two and in the same castle, as well. If Riddle hadn't already drawn enough attention to her, the reveal of Athena certainly would have. Because who wouldn't want to be seen with the witch with a phoenix?

"Yes, I do," she confirmed. "She was my father's," she looked up at the phoenix, brushing her fingers over the feathers of her wings and whilst Athena didn't take her gaze from Riddle, she did lean closer to Hermione and brush her head against Hermione's cheek affectionately. "Phoenixes, despite being highly suspicious and independent, are loyal and remain so until death. When my father died, I had expected for Athena to leave, but she didn't. Her loyalty is to me. She has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and she stayed because she was not only loyal to my father, but my family line. She watched me grow and the bond she had with my father simply passed to me upon his death."

"You have the trust and loyalty of a phoenix?" He surmised slowly, his brow furrowed.

"Yes, and she is incredibly protective of me. She throws a fit when I don't return to my rooms by the time I said I would. She fills the role of an overbearing mother quite well," she replied, her mouth twitching when Athena squawked in protest and Hermione soothed her in response.

Clearing his throat, he shifted in the armchair, Hermione knowing he was highly uncomfortable with the revelation of her familiar.

"You understand that I expect this to remain a secret, yes?"

"No one knows?"

"No, certainly not Dumbledore."

"Why?" He tipped his head curiously.

She shrugged. "I don't trust him."

His mouth tugged into a pleased smile.

"Now, before we were interrupted," she looked to her phoenix in disapproval but she either didn't notice or care and Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. "Riddle..."

"Tom," he corrected firmly.

"Tom... What is it that you want from me?"

"I want you," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Isn't that obvious?" He arched an eyebrow. "You are powerful, your capabilities as a Seer can help me achieve anything I wish."

"And what do I get in return?"

"You get me. You get everything you could ever dream of. All you have to do is be mine."

She sighed and reached up to brush a stray curl back from her face. "And that's my issue, Tom. You want to _own_ me. I am not a damn house-elf, I am a human being. One with a brain and enough power to forge my own future _without_ you. I don't need you."

"But you _want_ me," he stated knowingly.

She shrugged, neither confirming it nor denying it.

"There are plenty of people in the world that possess gifts such as mine, that are just as clever and powerful. Why _me_?" She pressed, seeing his brow furrow. "You best answer me truthfully, Tom. Don't give me the answer you believe I wish to hear, give me your honesty. Right here, right now, we are the only ones present, no one is going to overhear and use it against you. I know you don't trust anyone, but you can trust me to not reveal anything you may say to me to another. If I have the trust and loyalty of phoenix, surely you can show some trust in me."

She expected him to look away, to leave in a fit of furry, to attempt to curse her, and though it was clear he was highly uncomfortable, he gaze was unflinching as he stared at her.

"I want you just as much as I need you," he confessed. "Yes, there may be others with similar abilities, but they are not you. You, who is not afraid of me. You, who is not afraid to curse me or point out my flaws and mistakes. You, who is gifted with intelligence and power. You, who is not afraid to pursue any career choice you wish no matter the stagnant politics surrounding women. You, who is not like other witches your age. I want you because I know you have more planned for your future than finding the perfect husband and birthing his children. I might want you for your power and abilities, but I also appreciate your fearlessness, your intelligence and confidence, your stubbornness and refusal to back down. You have a brain, unlike most of the idiots in this place. I want you like I've never wanted anyone."

Well, she certainly hadn't been expecting that. He'd mentioned traits most wouldn't. No wizard wanted a stubborn witch for a wife. They wanted a doormat, someone that would take orders without a fight, someone that would be seen and never heard, as was expected during their current time. And not only that, whilst he had mentioned her power and abilities, he hadn't mentioned her physical appearance. Perhaps he didn't think her pretty, whether or not that was true, Hermione didn't care. Whilst she'd never been the 'vain look in the mirror every ten seconds' type of witch, every witch was susceptible to compliments on their appearance, even her. But as she aged, she found she didn't care for other's opinions of her. Only her own mattered. But the qualities he'd named were qualities most hated about her.

She tilted her head curiously. "What do you believe was my motivation behind my kissing Septimus?"

His eyes flashed angrily at the reminder of what he'd found not but a couple of hours ago.

"To make me jealous."

"Partially," she admitted, "But more importantly, it was to show you that I had options. I don't have to be anything to you if I don't wish to. I wanted, needed you to understand that should you step out of line or do something I could never forgive, there are others in the castle that I might give my attention to. I don't _need_ you. It is my decision. Understood? Fabulous. Now, _what_ do you want from me?"

"Everything."

"That is quite unspecific," she quipped.

"I want your power. I want your loyalty and fidelity. I want you, mind, body _and_ soul," he said, Hermione's eyebrow arching. "Pledge yourself to me and I will ensure your protection and well-being, both inside and outside of the castle walls. I will ensure you have anything you could ever wish, and I will ensure you are _satisfied_ in _every_ manner possible."

She could feel him. Even with the distance between them and even with his magic firmly restrained, she could still feel it in the air, as if it were the very oxygen they breathed.

"If you be mine, I will be yours," he vowed.

It took a moment for her to draw her eyes from him and she turned to look over her shoulder at Athena. Leaning closer, she whispered,

"What do you think, Girl? Should I do it? Is he worth the trouble?"

Squawking, Athena took flight and circled above before lowering, flapping her wings to keep her mid-air as she hovered before Riddle, her beady eyes scrutinising him, looking into his very soul, no matter how fractured it might be. Hermione had to give it to him, he didn't falter as he stared back unflinchingly at her overprotective phoenix.

Moments of tense silence passed until Athena opened her beak, a stream of soft chords breaking free and Hermione felt her magic hum in response, her body relaxing and her mind clearing.

Athena gave Riddle one last glance before she flew over to Hermione, gently settling on her arm when Hermione held it out to her.

"Thank you. That was incredibly helpful," she muttered softly, her free hand coming up to tussle the tuft of feathers atop her head. "Are you hunting tonight?" She asked and the phoenix squawked in response. "Be careful and remember to stay out of sight. Happy hunting."

Athena butted her head against Hermione's cheek before she took flight, the window magically opening for her and once she passed through, it closed behind her, sealing out the cold November air.

"What was that?"

Turning her eyes to Riddle, he was looking to her expectantly and with a soft sigh, she shifted the blanket off her lap and rose to her feet, slowly approaching the armchair he occupied. His eyes tracked her movements until she stopped before him, her arms folding over her chest, the hem of her robes rising slightly and despite the temptation to look, he didn't.

"I agree to be yours and you will be mine?"

"Yes," he confirmed firmly, confidently, barely allowing a second to pass before he answered.

Well, this was it.

Her decision would affect the outcome of her mission, her future and the world.

She only hoped she was choosing correctly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 28

**Friday 24th November 1944**

Taking a breath, she allowed her arms to drop by her sides and she took a step forward, moving to straddle his lap, her hands settling on the back of the armchair on either side of his head. Their eyes met, chocolate brown to ice-blue, she heard the slightest hitch in his breath but she tipped her head in confusion when his hands remained firmly on the armrests.

Seeing her questioning gaze he said, "You told me not to touch you without your permission."

Her mouth twitched as she fought back a smile and wishing to test him, she slackened her control on her magic, allowing it to slowly trickle from her, ghosting over his skin in a manner that was so gentle, he struggled to determine if he'd felt something or if it had just been his imagination.

He didn't move, his gaze remaining firmly locked on hers.

She tilted her head to the other side, watching him like a curious puppy as she once more slackened her control, her magic brushing against him, his hair visibly being disturbed as if by a gust of wind, blowing a single strand of his hair into his eyes.

He took a visible deep breath, his eyes darkening to a sea-blue and his jaw ticked but still, he remained still.

Impressed, Hermione allowed her magic free without restraint, it swarming around him, pressing down against him. He released a slow breath as his eyes fluttered closed, shifting slightly on the armchair and Hermione's eyes flittered to his hands, seeing them clenched into tight fists of restraint. She'd felt the tension in his body as he held himself still, fighting his own urges whilst she deliberately provoked him.

When his eyes opened, gone was the blue colouring and she struggled to determine between the pupil and iris. Slowly and teasingly, she lowered her head, pausing before their noses touched, seeing the tension in his jaw and the slight twitch in his right eye.

Their eyes locked and she whispered with her lips brushing his, "You have my permission."

She was taken aback by the sheer ferocity in which his left arm slotted around her lower back and his right hand found purchase on the back of her neck, tugging her forward, closing the distance between them and his mouth pressing against hers.

Releasing a noise of surprise, he took full advantage and forced his tongue into her mouth, consuming and devouring her like a man starved and her hands came away from the armchair and fisted into his silken strands of hair, tugging. His groan travelled from his chest and into her mouth as his hand reached up, removing the clip from her hair, the wild, slightly damp curls tumbling down her back and over her shoulders, his hand quickly gathering as much as it as he could in one grasp and tugging. Her moan was caught in his mouth as he used his grip to angle her head however he wished, his tongue brushing the length of hers, swiping over her teeth, ghosting against the roof of her mouth, exploring and devouring the hot cavern.

His magic surrounded her, pressed against her heavily, brushed over her skin until goosebumps were left in its wake. It made it her dizzy, it made it hard to think clearly but Hermione was of the opinion that would make things easier. It would prevent her from second-guessing her decision, from worrying and most importantly, it allowed her to feel. For years she'd been under so much pressure and stress, for years she had to put others' needs before her own and she was expected to be on top form every moment of every day. But now, now it was her chance to forget about everything and the expectations that surrounded her, at least for a little while.

He drew his mouth back from hers, burying his face against her neck as he lavished kisses, nips and licks against her skin. She felt his mouth curve into a smirk when she tipped her head to offer more skin and a whimper let her, both from the attention he was paying to her neck and because he'd pulled his mouth from hers.

Once her lungs were no longer burning with the need for oxygen, with her grip on his hair, she tugged his head back from her, angled his head and then fused their mouths back together, catching his groan when she took control of the kiss, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip, her tongue soothing the sting and then slipping through his parted lips. He allowed her control for but a few moments before he dominated her, his arm slotted around her back, tugging her closer to him and Hermione feeling the growing, hardening length pressing against her core.

She drew back from him, sucking in a breath, her eyes opening to see him watching her with his dark, heated gaze. Her stomach had long since started knotting with desire and her arousal had formed at her core, being unsurprised if he were able to feel the dampness of her underwear against his clothing.

In a split second, an understanding passed between them without words being spoken and she lunged forward at the same time as him tugging her back to him, their mouths colliding as Hermione's hands uncurled from his hair and moved to his shoulders, slipping beneath his robes and pushing them off his shoulders and down his arms. He reluctantly released his grip on her hair and unfolded his arm from around her, allowing the sleeves to fall down his arms. Before he had the chance to hold her against him once more, Hermione's hands settled against the hem of his jumper and she lifted it, Tom drawing back from her long enough for it to clear his head, his mouth latching back onto hers and he tugged his hands free, carelessly dropping the jumper to the ground.

Both of his hands buried in her hair, her wild, tangled curls twisting around his fingers as hers were busy loosening the knot of his tie and slipping it from his neck before she made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, tugging it from his trousers and pushing it over his shoulders.

She pulled back for air and her glassy eyes took in the sight before her, Tom's hair messy and dishevelled, his eyes dark and heated, his mouth red and bruised, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing. _God, his chest_!

Of course, he was absolutely fucking perfect! She thought in annoyance.

His chest, stomach and arms were lined with muscle, something that was usually hidden beneath his uniform and robes and it didn't surprise her. Although she knew he didn't participate in sport and games, he was downright genetically perfect, no doubt his father being the same. Sometimes it was genetics. And not only that, the magic that she and Tom performed, it was incredibly draining, particularly during the learning stage. It required physical and mental strength and endurance. Over time, it would've built up and strengthened him, almost like an exercise routine.

Her gaze moved lower, seeing the dark trail of hair that started below his bellybutton and disappeared into his trousers, her eyes following it and landing on the visible bulge in his trousers. Trapping her lower tip between her teeth, she lifted her gaze, seeing the arched eyebrow and slight smirk that met her. Even when he was aroused he was annoying.

Silently, she removed his hands from her hips and she climbed off him, his eyes following the movement of her hands as she brought them to the sash on her robes and untied it. Shrugging her shoulders, the lilac silk slipped lower and down her arms, pooling to the floor around her feet.

She stood before him wearing something Tom had never before seen, something he never wanted anyone but him to see. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her cheeks flushed with colour, her lips red and bruised and her hair surrounded her in a cloud of messy curls. She wore what looked to be a nightgown of sorts, only it was made of white silk with lace detailing about the hem, it fell no further than mid-thigh, thin shoulder straps kept the nightgown in place and the fabric fit to her curves.

With so little fabric the majority of her body was free to his gaze, Tom noting that same thin line that travelled across her throat from before and as his gaze lowered to track the rise and fall motion of her chest, he saw something peeking out from beneath the fabric. A scar he presumed, one that was thick and an odd purplish colour. He wasn't certain what had caused it or how large it was, for that, he'd have to get a better look.

His hands gripped the armrests of the armchair when the chill in the room brushed against her, highlighting the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra as he could see the hardened peaks of her nibbles through the silky fabric.

Unphased, she held her hand out to him in offering and he took it without hesitation, pulling his shirt from his wrists and allowing it to drop to the floor. Silently, she turned and pulled him after her, leading them up the staircase and to her bedroom. Tom took only but a moment to see that it was very familiar to his own and everything was neatly organised and had its place, something that wasn't surprising to him. When his eyes darted to the bed she was leading him towards, he felt both eyebrows rise high, seeing the pale blue silk sheets and her name being monogrammed in the corner of each pillow. Even Malfoy didn't have such a luxury nor did he have his name or initials sewn into his bedding or clothing.

She released his hand as she stopped by the bed, her attention moving to drawing back to the covers whilst he took the opportunity to mutter a spell, his socks and shoes being removed and finding purchase with his other items of clothing by the armchair.

Satisfied, she turned to face him, their eyes locking and then in an instant, their mouths were fused together, her hands were in his hair and her legs were folded around his waist with his arms supporting her weight. He took the remaining few steps forward and lowered her onto the bed, his body covering hers, one arm supporting his weight and the other exploring the soft, warm body beneath him.

He trailed his fingers over her thigh and down her shin, reaching as far as her ankle before travelling north and up to her chest and without warning, his hand covered her right breast, his palm brushing the hardened peak beneath the silky material, catching her pleased sigh in his mouth.

Her hands slipped from his hair, ghosting over her back and shoulders, the muscles beneath his skin twitching under her touch before she brought them to his chest, smoothing over his torso. Without hesitation, she reached for his belt, nimbly unfastening it and the button and zip on his trousers, her hand boldly shifting beneath his boxers and wrapping around his hardened length.

He hissed against her mouth before burying his face against her neck, lavishing her skin with nips and kisses, being sure to mark her as his. She muttered something and he felt a cold lubricant cover the palm of her hand as she began to pump her hand over him, dragging her nails over him teasingly, applying pressure and twisting her wrist. He groaned against her skin, feeling her smugness in their combined magical auras.

Not to be outdone, he brought his hand away from her breast and slipped it beneath her flimsy nightgown, feeling both surprised and not, at the feel of the damp lace that covered her core, Tom feeling the heat radiate from her. Without warning, he buried his hand under the waistband, slipping his fingers through her folds and spreading her arousal, his mouth tugging into a pleased smirk when she gasped, a moan falling from her lips.

He teased her, continuing to stroke his fingers through her folds until she shifted her hips, trying to get what she wanted and when she didn't, she cried out in frustration and tightened her grip on his length, a hiss falling from his mouth at the pained-pleasure.

"I swear to every god there is, I _will_ kill you," she threatened through a growl, the nails of her free hand digging into his lower back painfully.

Smirking, he gave her what she wanted, his fingers circling her entrance before two slipped inside, a low moan that had his length twitching falling from her, her head fell back against the pillows and her body arched against him, allowing his fingers to move deeper. Her hot, silky walls fluttered and she moved her hips, fucking herself on his fingers as he drew his head back, his eyes watching her intently. Her eyes had fallen shut, her hair surrounded her in a halo of wild curls, her cheeks were flushed pink and her mouth alternated between being open as she panted, and her teeth being sunk into her bottom lip.

When he aided her, crooking his fingers, a cry caught in her throat and she continued her pumping motions over him, timing them to the movement of her hips and his fingers. His breathing grew heavy, his head swam and he clenched his teeth, fighting back the looming release she was quickly bringing him to.

Not to be outdone and remembering her many jibes about his sexual prowess, he was determined to prove her wrong. He was determined to make her cry, beg, scream his name until she lost her voice. Until he was the only thought in her clever brain. Until he was the only thing she wanted. Being reminded that she wasn't a virgin, that someone had had her before him, he was determined to ruin her for anyone else, to ensure she craved only him.

It seemed only fair given that she'd ruined him.

He was going to show her what it meant to be his. What he could and would give her.

Feeling the fluttering of her inner walls around his fingers, he pulled his hand away from her, a disappointed whine falling from her lips, her hand pausing in her movements over his length and her eyes opening, half-lidded and glaring at him.

Fighting back the laugh, he pushed himself away from her and to his knees, his eyes locked with hers as he reached beneath her nightgown, hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down her legs, Hermione lifting her hips to aid him. Once they'd cleared her knees and he dragged them over her feet and dropped them to the ground, she reached down and gripped the hem of her nightgown, arching her back and tugging it up and over her head, throwing the item of clothing to the floor carelessly.

Her eyes caught his, seeing his dark gaze slowly examining her naked form, the expression on his face giving the impression that she was his last meal and he couldn't wait to devour her. Something she honestly didn't mind. But if he denied her release again, she would kill him.

When his eyes finally landed on her torso, sweeping over the rise and fall of her chest, that heated, lustful gaze twisted into anger, spying the thick, purplish scar tissue that almost seemed to cut her torso in half; it starting just shy of her right shoulder, travelling between the valley of her breasts, snaking beneath her left breast and ending close to her left hip.

" _Who_ did that to you?" He demanded, his eyes snapping to her briefly before falling to the scar once more.

"They've been taken care of," she replied, her voice somewhat huskier than before. Whilst Dolohov was alive in that time, he'd died during the Battle of Hogwarts in her time.

"And your throat?"

"Dead," she promised firmly. Bellatrix had also died during her time but she was yet to be born in that time.

His gaze shifted lower, landing on the collection of scars in-between her right hip and bellybutton, there being eight or nine of the small incision sized markings.

Hermione sighed and reached up to brush her hair back from her face. "Self-induced, technically. We walked into a trap and in order to escape, we had to jump out of a second-story window," she explained. "Now, when you're quite done staring, I was led to believe you were the Slytherin Sex God, or did you spread that rumour yourself after the string of complaints that were left?"

She'd made similar comments before and they'd never before bothered him, but now, he found that some of his ego did crumble at her words. Narrowing his eyes at her smug expression, he decided that not only was he going to prove her wrong, not only was he going to ruin any other wizard for her, but he'd enjoy doing it.

His hands settling on her hips, he tugged, a squeal of surprise falling from her mouth when she slid against the silk sheets and closer to him, her naked form being sprawled out before him, her legs falling open wider to accommodate his larger form. He lowered himself onto his hands, pressing them on either side of her head and his face hovered before hers.

"You have no idea what you've just unleashed upon yourself," he promised softly.

She stared back, lifting her chin defiantly, her eyes blazing with fire and heat.

"I assure you, I can fake it very well," she fired back.

Unsure whether he should be amused or offended by her reply, he settled for pressing his mouth against hers, stopping any further retorts as he forced his tongue between her lips, hers ready to greet him. Her hands reached up and fisted into his hair tightly, her legs folding around his hips and she tugged, pulling his lower half to press against her, Tom feeling her heat and arousal seep through his clothing.

Her nails scraped against his scalp and she pressed her hips against his, searching for friction. He smirked against her mouth, holding perfectly still and refusing her what she wished. She growled in frustration, the sound travelling from her, into his mouth and down his spine. He shifted his weight onto his left arm and with his right, his fingers travelled the length of her torso, dancing over the scar tissue and circling her bellybutton before covering her breast. She arched against him, pushing her chest into his hand forcefully and wriggling her hips in search of friction.

"Tom!" She snapped in irritation, dragging her mouth from him, gasping for breath and glaring up at him. "I can see why they'd complain," she taunted. "Whilst you're certainly good with your hands, you've clearly no idea how to use your..."

His hand clamping over her mouth silenced the remainder of her jibe and he glared down at her. Salazar, if she wasn't so damn powerful and intelligent, he'd kill her for being so annoying.

Giving her exactly what she wished, with a muttered spell, both his trousers and boxers vanished, leaving him just as naked as her, his hardened length nudging against her stomach. Their eyes remained locked and silently, she released her grip on his hair and reached down, her hand circling his length, pumping over him as she shifted her hips and guided him to her entrance.

"I'm going to fuck you like no one has before," he vowed softly and without warning, he thrust his hips forward, filling her in one swift and sharp movement.

A choked noise caught in her throat as she struggled to breathe and her eyes slammed shut before opening wide under the pained-pleasure. It had been far too long since she'd last had sex, she realised, feeling the ache in her pelvic area from his none too gentle intrusion. Not that she'd expected gentle, Tom Riddle was many things but gentle was not one of them.

She stared up at him through her wide eyes, expecting to see his smug expression and being surprised to see he appeared to be struggling with his own reaction, his eyes closed, his head bowed and his jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth, a series of hisses slipping from him, as her body surrounded him with its tight warmth.

God! Was he... Speaking Parseltongue?

He took a visible breath and his eyes opened, the darkened, dangerous orbs locking with hers, his mouth twitching into a smirk. He drew back slowly and then ploughed forward, Hermione's gasping moan being muffled by his hand, his eyes burning with heat and fire as he watched her, her arms folding around his back and her hands clutching at his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin.

He stretched his arm a little higher, resting above her head and his body stretching out and pressing hers into the mattress and silk sheets beneath her. He lifted his hand from her mouth, her pants, gasps and moans no longer muffled and filling the otherwise silent room, and he set it against her hip, grasping tightly, his head bowing with his forehead pressing against her shoulder as he kept up the rhythm of his quick, sharp thrusts.

"Oh!" She said breathily, her head tipping back and her body arching into him.

His head lifting, he stared down at her, seeing her flushed skin, glassy eyes and teeth sunk into her lip.

"There?" He checked, his mouth twitching into a smirk, not stopping in his movements.

"There... Right there..." She confirmed, nodding her head vigorously. "Don't you dare stop!" She warned.

Smirking, he ensured he hit the same spot inside of her every time, her noises growing louder, her nails biting into him, her legs tightening around his hips, her walls fluttering around him until he shoved her over the edge. Her body clamped around him tightly, keeping him to her, her eyes slammed shut and her head fell back as a breathless cry fell from her.

He paused briefly when she slumped into the mattress, allowing her a moment to recover as well as taking a moment for himself. He was nowhere near done with her and admittedly, he had been close to losing control of his restraint, entirely _too_ close for his liking. He was usually much more controlled and composed.

He'd bedded witches with bigger breasts and rounder arses, witches that were curvier and slimmer, witches that tripped over themselves to please him, witches that were prettier and more submissive, witches that were without scars and terrible attitudes. And yet, he'd never wanted to do to them what he wanted to do to her, he'd never wanted them with the same hunger as he wanted her.

She did fight back. She did have an attitude. She wasn't afraid to insult him. She wasn't perfect, far from it physically with her mass of hair and scars littering her body, and still, as she lay before him naked, exposed and vulnerable, no one had looked at him with such confidence, with no self-consciousness or worry. She hadn't cared for his opinion on her body or appearance. She wasn't expectant that he'd do all the work as her mouth latched onto his or his neck, her hands gripped fistfuls of hair and clutched at his shoulders, her hips moved in tandem with his and he'd felt her attempt to roll them so she might be on top but he'd used his large frame to pin her in place. She truly didn't care for his opinion of her and neither did she want anything for him. She didn't want his power, his favour, his affection, his promise of marriage. In that moment, she'd simply wanted him to fuck her.

All of that combined with their entwined magical auras filling the room, making it stuffy and warm, fighting off the chill in the castle, it made it difficult to concentrate, to focus on keeping control. He didn't want to lose control, to seem vulnerable or weak, but she was making it difficult.

Opening her eyes, she saw the conflicted, concentrated frown on his face and she released a breath, drawing his attention. His expression morphed into one of smug pride.

"You did _not_ fake that," he stated confidently.

"How would you know? As I said, I'm very good at faking it," she fired back.

"Oh? Was your ex terrible?"

"No, he was fabulous, absolutely _wonderful_. Certainly better than you," she taunted.

Smirking, he resumed his thrusts, sticking to the same quick and sharp movements, angling his hips so he hit that same spot every time, Hermione's eyes widening when she realised his intentions. He was going to force her into another orgasm, just to prove a point and when he did, he would be unbearable and she might actually kill him.

Reaching up, she latched her mouth onto his, swiping her tongue over the seam of his lips and slipping it inside to meet his when he opened for her, Tom soon taking control from her, devouring and consuming her. Needing to breathe, she tore her mouth from his and blazed a trail of kisses over his cheek, down his jaw and to his neck, nipping and sucking at his skin.

She could feel the approach, her magic singing in the air, her heart pounding in her ears, her toes curling, her hold on him tightening, her stomach knotting painfully tight... And then it was gone. A tidal wave of pleasure rushed through her, extinguishing the heat of the fire that surged through her blood. Stars burst before her eyes, she went light-headed and she drew her mouth from his skin, her head tipping back.

" _Fuck_!" She breathed out.

She heard his groan from deep within his chest and he stilled in his movements once more, taking a quick breather. Opening her eyes, her vision spotty, she saw his bowed head, felt his fingers gripping her hip tightly, saw his reddened skin with mouth-shaped marks, his cheeks flushed and his expression one of agony. As though he were in pain by restraining himself. Seeing that, she came to a horrifying realisation.

He'd already gotten her off twice (something her Beater had been capable of as well) and the second time, he shouldn't have held back and because he did, she knew that meant he wasn't done with her. He was going to force her to do it _again_ and in all honesty, she wasn't sure her body could take it.

She was already tired and her skin slick with sweat, sticking to the silk sheets beneath her, and she was starting to get cramp in her arse.

Tom's gaze suddenly locked on hers and her expression must've given away her thoughts as he smirked at her, arching an eyebrow in challenge. A groan fell from her, a combination of annoyance at his smugness, being tired and when he drew back and thrust forward, once more continuing with his movements.

She shifted, trying to find a way to make herself more comfortable and without missing a beat and seeming to know, his hand lifted from her hip and came up to her leg, shifting it to hook over his shoulder. She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed at the change in the angle of her body and the easing of the cramp in her arse.

"Look at me," he commanded and with some effort, she was able to lift her heavy eyelids. "Had enough yet?" He asked, the arrogance evident even through his pants.

Sweat slicked at his skin, glistening in the firelight, his pupils were blown wide and his hair messier than she'd seen, it being damp with sweat and falling into his eyes. She deliberately clenched her pelvic muscles, her mouth twitching when he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed and his head bowing.

"No, I can do this all night," she replied.

And in a move that took him by surprise, she gathered all of the strength she was capable of and rolled them, Tom lying flat on his back with his head propped up by a pillow, Hermione's hands pressed firmly against his chest and holding him down and she shifted her hips as she straddled, making herself more comfortable.

He stared up at her, partially surprised and partially in challenge. Tipping her head to the side, her mouth pulled into a smirk when Tom tried to move his arms to hold onto her, only she'd cast a mild Sticking Charm, keeping them in place against the mattress.

He glared at her in annoyance and Hermione smiled sweetly in response, taking control and setting her own pace, wishing to slow things down for a moment or two. She'd been quickly building to her third orgasm given how sensitive her body was from the previous two and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of bringing her undone multiple times in one session and so quickly. She'd expected him to be somewhat of a selfish lover, and although he'd gotten her off twice with the intention to do it for a third time, she suspected he was mostly doing it for himself, to prove a point, to prove to them both that he could do it.

As she moved her hips over him, she paid attention to what made his breath hitch, the muscles of his abdomen contract and his hips thrust upwards to meet her. She made sure to focus on him and not herself, admittedly, already being thoroughly satisfied and if Tom was going to force her to come again, she would make sure to bring him exceptionally close to his own release, hoping that he wouldn't be able to hold back a third time. If he did, she was certain he'd make her do it for the fourth time and that might just kill her. She wasn't convinced she'd survive a third time yet.

She could feel his control slipping in the aura of their combined magic, could see it in his expression as he struggled between letting go, allowing her to do whatever she wished and taking control. His gaze locked on hers, his eyes flashed with fire and need, his jaw clenched and from the corner of her eye, she saw the movement of his hands clenching into tight fists.

Assuming she was getting the better of him when his eyes closed and he groaned deep in his chest, she was surprised when he suddenly sat upright, his hands settling on her hips and tugging her closer against him whilst he pulled her into each of his thrusts. In all honesty, she was surprised he'd taken so long to break free of the charm. She'd used the simplest one she knew but she took it as a compliment, knowing that she'd distracted him to the point where it had addled his brain and he'd been capable of casting one of the simplest counter charms to exist.

His mouthed latched onto hers and her arms folded around his neck, her hands alternating between tugging at his hair and scratching at his back and shoulders. One of his hands snaked up, gathering her hair in one grasp and tugging, a gasp falling from her when her mouth unlatched from his.

She felt herself approaching the edge, teetering off it dangerously. All she needed was that one nudge to send her flying.

"You're close aren't you? I can _feel_ it," he panted, his warm breath mixing with hers.

"Tom! Just do it," she breathed out, frustrated.

Laughing, he leaned back slightly, making it so her little bundle of nerves was sharply nudged with each thrust and she moaned, her head tipping back and her eyes fluttering closed. Her walls fluttering around him, a high pitched whine fell from her when she tipped off the edge, going dizzy and struggling to catch her breath, but knowing that she absolutely wasn't capable of doing it again, she forced herself to continue moving her hips, clenching her pelvic muscles as tightly as possible and she latched her mouth onto his neck, raking her nails down his back.

His hold on her tightened as a series of hisses fell through clenched teeth and she felt his body go taut as he found his release. _Thankfully_ , thought Hermione.

She slumped forward against him, her hold on him slackening, her nails soothingly scratching at the nape of his neck as his forehead pressed against her shoulder, his fingers absentmindedly drumming out a rhythm against her skin as they both caught their breath.

A few moments later, Hermione tiredly slipped from his grasp and collapsed onto her mattress, staring up at the ceiling and brushing her hair back from her face as Tom laid back, folding his hands behind his head, neither concerned for their current nudity nor the chill in the castle, them both being warm from their activities and the stuffy magical auras in the room, neither seeming inclined to detangle and return to their owners and Tom and Hermione being too tired to force it to.

"Not bad, Tom," said Hermione, breaking the silence, her voice soft and tired.

Tom scoffed. " _Three_ times, Hermione."

She shrugged. "You're not the first to give me multiple orgasms."

"I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want, I don't care," she replied.

He didn't need to know that her favourite Beater usually didn't have the patience to get her off three times in one session, she was always happy with her two orgasms, no matter how he got her to that point.

While it didn't surprise her that Tom had done that to her despite her taunts and jibes, she was a little annoyed he'd proven her wrong. He'd either had plenty of practice or he was just a natural, something that she wouldn't put past him given that there wasn't much he wasn't capable of perfecting. The wizard was downright annoying in that regard.

As she lay boneless on her bed, feeling light, as though she were floating, she set her hands against her stomach and clasped them together, crossing her legs at the ankles. Soon, she'd get up and go to her bathroom to clean up, or at the very least, she'd cast a Cleaning Charm. Not only was she sticky and sweaty but she could feel their combined essences covering her inner thighs and she grimaced. But right now, she needed a moment to find the strength to sit up.

"What caused it?"

"What?" She asked softly.

"The scar."

Sighing, she opened her eyes and tilted her head, seeing he did the same and his gaze locked with hers, once more ice-blue in colour. _Good_ , she thought. That meant he'd calmed for the time being and he wasn't going to insist on having sex again.

Not only was she tired, not only was she a little sore, but she wasn't certain she _wanted_ to have sex with him again. Part of her hoped that now they had, she'd gotten it out of her system and she wouldn't, and the other half, that was rearing to go. She wished she could put it down to hormones. She hadn't had sex in a long time, she'd been frustrated and horny, and he was handsome and powerful. He was the forbidden fruit. She shouldn't have wanted him but she did. And although she didn't feel guilty for sleeping with him, she wasn't certain she wanted a repeat performance no matter how good it had been or how much he'd satisfied her.

"I was sixteen," she started, her brow furrowing into an unhappy crease as she remembered the flash of purple light striking her down in the Department of Mysteries.

All she remembered was searing pain, darkness and then waking up in St. Mungos. It had been incredibly hard to keep from her parents, particularly when she'd been on a strict treatment regime for three months and her potions had been delivered to her through owl post. Luckily, her parents had always been at work during those deliveries and it was easy enough to sneak away if she had to take her potions when they'd been home.

"I don't remember much. We were duelling and outnumbered, I never saw his face and I didn't know his name. I remember someone raising their wand to me and I cast a _Silencio_ , forcing them to cast non-verbally. There was a flash of purple and then searing pain and I woke up in the hospital. The Healers were unsure of what the curse had been, only that it should've killed me. Neither I nor my father recognised it, we didn't hear the incantation and we couldn't place the wand movements."

His brow furrowed in thought. "He created himself," he stated knowingly.

"Yes, he did, and because of that, the Healers struggled to treat me. I was on a three month potion treatment regime. I survived not only because my magic kept me alive long enough to be taken to the hospital, but because I forced him to cast non-verbally. Something he'd clearly never done before and it weakened the effects of the curse."

"And your throat?"

"I think that one is quite obvious and it's one of the most recent ones. I was captured and when I was rescued, I was held at knifepoint before I was able to escape."

"What happened during your capture?"

"Something I don't wish to talk about... Please, respect my wishes," she added, seeing he opened his mouth to argue and surprisingly, he nodded slowly. "Are you cold?" She asked.

"Embarrassed, are we?" His mouth twitched, his eyes pointedly looking down the length of his body before doing the same to her, lingering in certain areas.

"No," she answered honestly. She'd come to accept that her breasts weren't as big as Lavender's or her arse as round as Ginny's. Mentally, she was far older than her physical age of eighteen and she'd learned to accept the things she couldn't change about herself. If he didn't like her body, then it was tough luck, and she wouldn't be made to feel ashamed of herself. "And that is the last time I show concern for you," she sniffed.

"Concern?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, concern," she confirmed. "Now, get out."

"Excuse me?" Both eyes raised high on his forehead.

"Get out," she repeated.

"You don't want me to stay?"

She snorted. "Please, I highly doubt you make it a point to stay overnight after a tryst. I wouldn't be surprised if you erase their memories, only allowing the witches to remember what you wish so you can control what they tell others, preventing the spread of gossip... Oh God, you do, don't you?" She said, seeing his blank expression. "Hell," she snorted and shook her head. "Are you going to _Obliviate_ me?" She arched a questioning brow.

"No, I want you to remember _everything_ ," he smirked. "And not only am I highly aware of how private you are, just as I am, but you also don't have any friends."

"Just the way I like it," she nodded.

No one could replace Harry, Ron and Ginny, so she'd decided early on to keep to herself and focus on her task without distraction. That had worked out wonderfully, hadn't it?

"And back to my point, not only do I doubt you stay overnight after a tryst, but I certainly don't want you taking up space in _my_ bed and hogging _my_ blanket. I tend to spread out like a starfish when I'm sleeping."

He snorted. "We've shared a bed before," he reminded her. "You hardly moved, you were in the same position you fell asleep in when you woke the next day."

"Not by choice," she pointed out, "And I'd been drugged and was under the added influence of a Sleeping Draught," she shrugged. "In any case, you best get back to your dorm."

"No, I don't think I will," he replied, crossing his legs at the ankles, his arms shifting further beneath his head to prop it up a little more, the muscles in his arms twitching at the movement. "Your bed's quite comfortable. And silk, monogrammed sheets? I never expected that."

"Your bed's just as comfortable with the Egyptian cotton sheets," she argued.

His mouth twitched.

"Ah, whilst one is soft against the skin, the other is smooth and cool, perfect given the warm temperature this night."

She scowled. "I'm going to pop to my bathroom and if you're not gone by the time I get back, I'm going to hex you," she threatened.

He remained unphased, offering a smile and a little wave of his fingers when she sat up, reached for her nightgown and slipped it on. Grabbing her wand from the bedside table, she stood and pressed the tip against her abdomen, muttering beneath her breath, a golden-hue forming before fading.

"Ah, Contraception Charm, I'm glad you remembered," he remarked.

She lifted her eyes, seeing him nakedly lounging on her bed without a care in the world.

"I'm on the potion, too," she told him before muttering the charm once more. Seeing his arched eyebrow, she said, "I have no desire to find myself pregnant, so I make it a point to cast the charm _twice_ , no matter if I'm already on the potion. It doesn't cause harm to be thorough, particularly when the potion can wear off earlier than expected and the charm's not one hundred percent effective. Now, remember my warning."

With that, she turned and headed for her bathroom.

~000~000~000~

She'd been gone no more than fifteen minutes and she'd decided to hop through the shower as opposed to the Cleaning Charm. After drying, brushing her teeth again and slipping on a clean nightgown, similar to the previous one only this one was silver, she left her bathroom and returned to her bedroom, stifling a yawn on the way.

Stepping inside, she released a sigh at the sight of Tom still being completely naked and having fallen asleep in her bed. His chest rose and fell smoothly, his face was turned away from her and his hands were folded on his stomach.

She nibbled her lip, deciding whether or not she should wake him or simply climb into bed and go to sleep. She came to the conclusion that she didn't have the heart to wake him, not only did he look peaceful, but she admitted he'd worked hard and gone above and beyond to satisfy her that night, no matter his motives. And despite having been a thorough and willing participant in their activities, she couldn't quite process the thought of sleeping beside him as if they were partners, companions, lovers.

Grumbling to herself, she flicked her wand, the blanket shifting until it covered Tom's naked form from both her gaze and the chill that was picking up in the room, and then she turned and headed down the stairs, seeing most of Tom's clothing being thrown about the floor and the fire in the fireplace was dying down. Her eyes flittered to the couch and despite it being comfortable to sit on, it was _not_ comfortable to sleep on. She was aware she could easily transfigure it into a bed, but thinking of Tom sleeping in her bed on her silk sheets, she couldn't stop thinking about Egyptian cotton sheets.

Her mouth twitched. Yes, that's what she'd do. He'd made it a point to sleep in her bed, so she'd return the favour. That would teach him.

Striding over to her robe, she lifted it from the floor and slipped it on, tying the sash tightly. She summoned her favourite slippers and a hair tie, pulling her hair atop her head and securing it in place, and after casting a Disillusionment Charm, she took her leave. She quickly and quietly made her way to the dungeons, using every shortcut and secret passageway she knew to not only avoid the patrolling staff members, but to be free of the cold sooner.

When she reached the dungeons and came to the portrait, she searched her mind for the password, being certain she'd heard Tom speak it before.

Hoping it was right, she said, "Basilisk venom," rolling her eyes when the portrait opened silently.

Stepping inside, she didn't bother looking around, instead she headed for the boy's staircase. When she reached the first step, she felt some resistance from the charms preventing females from having access, but they didn't appear to be as strong as she remembered the charms in Gryffindor Tower being, and with a shove of her magic aura, she was able to pass through with ease.

She climbed the stairs until she reached Tom's dorm, frowning when she realised she didn't know the passcode to enter. Scratching at her chin thoughtfully, she scoured her mind, thinking of any possible answers.

She tried 'Chamber of Secrets', 'Parselmouth', and 'Gaunt' until she said, "Horcrux," blinking in surprise when the door clicked and opened for her.

Smiling to herself, she stepped inside, closed the door behind her and headed straight for the bed, pulling back he blankets, kicking off her slippers, putting her wand on the bedside table and removing her robe, setting it on the end of the bed, before she slipped under the covers and shifted to the middle of the bed, happily sprawling out.

 _Yes, this would show him_ , she thought.

~000~000~000~

**Saturday 25th November 1944**

Tom woke the next morning to a dark sky and rain pelting against the windows. His eyes opening and adjusting to the little light in the room, through blurry vision he took in his surroundings, quickly realising that he'd fallen asleep in a bed that wasn't his own.

Pushing himself up onto his hands, his eyes darted to the empty space beside him, feeling the coolness of the sheets and realising that it had been empty for a while, unsurprising given that he knew Hermione to be an early riser. He was a little annoyed that he'd fallen asleep before she'd returned from the bathroom, having wanted to see her reaction to his disregard for her request that he leave, but in his defence, he'd been tired and uncertain that his body would physically withstand the journey back to the dungeons. Not that he was complaining; when he'd come to her rooms the previous night, he hadn't intended or expected for things to happen as they did, he'd only intended to speak with her.

Admittedly, she had worn him out, something he'd worked exceptionally hard to hide from her, not wanting her to know the true extent of the effect she'd had on him. Whilst his motive had first been to prove her wrong in regards to his sexual prowess, by the time she'd approached her second orgasm, that was when things shifted and it became increasingly difficult to keep his composure.

There was just something about her, something that other witches didn't have. Something that was intoxicating and addictive, something that drew him to her. The feel of her soft, warm body pressed against his, of her hair and magic surrounding him, of her hands clutching at him, her moans and cries filling his ears, her naked body and relaxed, sated expression drawing his gaze. He hadn't wanted it to end. And so he'd put in more effort than he ever had before.

To him, sex was a physical activity that one partook in when stress relief was needed. But for him, he had other methods of relaxation; hiding away in the Restricted Section, visiting the Room of Requirements and occasionally visiting the Chamber of Secrets, something he hadn't yet found the courage to do again after the release of the Basilisk, Warren's death and Hagrid's expulsion. Dumbledore was watching too closely to attempt anything of the sort.

There were always witches that all but threw themselves at him and when he felt that particular itch arise, he chose carefully, but it wasn't an activity he performed regularly unlike most of those he surrounded himself with, not when he had other things that needed his attention. If he was remembering correctly, the last time he'd felt the itch had been the previous school year before he'd left for the summer. And he hadn't felt it again until he met _her_. He was more of a taker than a giver, but with Hermione last night, he'd been the one to give, and he gave her everything he had. And honestly, he'd do it again. He found he _wanted_ to do it. Not because he'd promised her satisfaction in all areas, but because he _wanted_ to.

Reaching up, he ran a hand through his hair and his eyes darted about once more whilst he strained his hearing for any sign of Hermione still being present. He'd heard the shower running the night before and therefore wasn't surprised to hear silence, neither did he hear footsteps, the shuffling of books or humming. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd woken, gotten herself ready for the day and squirrelled herself away in the library. It was a Saturday after all, that was where he tended to find her after she missed both breakfast and lunch.

As his eyes took in the wardrobe, chest of drawers and her trunk sat by the foot of the bed, he contemplated doing a little digging, wondering if he might find something she didn't wish him to or if he might discover something that would reveal more about her, but as he turned his head towards the window to see the rain slowing, his body froze still, spying the phoenix that perched on a stand, her beady, black eyes watching him intently, as if knowing what he'd been planning.

Discovering that her familiar was a phoenix was still something that had yet to be fully processed, given the rarity of such an occasion, not only due to their suspiciousness regarding humans, but their few numbers, too.

Deciding against rummaging through her belongings, having the feeling the phoenix might take offence to him violating its mistress in such a manner, he shifted in the bed, the silk sheets sliding against his bare skin and he reached down and grabbed his boxers and trousers from the ground, slipping them on and standing from the bed, not being completely comfortable with parading around naked before the phoenix.

Tipping his head in acknowledgement in an effort to show respect (knowing phoenixes often resembled their mistress or master in personality, which meant it would have an attitude just as Hermione did and he did not want to make it mad), he left the bedroom, the soft white carpet protecting his feet from the chill of the stone floor beneath.

Descending the staircase and crossing the brown carpet beneath him, he gathered his shirt and tie from the ground and slipped them on, not bothering to fasten his tie. He then reached for his jumper and pulled it on before dressing in his socks and shoes and slipping on his robes, checking that his wand still sat in his pocket. He drew it and cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself before taking his leave, silently making his way down the corridors and to the dungeons. He wasn't expecting to see anyone given the early hour and most didn't emerge from their dorms until after nine, but still, it was best to be cautious. Anyone who saw him wandering the corridors with his less than put together appearance would connect the dots and that wasn't something he wanted.

As he entered the deserted Slytherin common room and headed to his dorm, he muttered the password and stepped inside, closing the door behind him before he paused, his eyes widening slightly at the sight that met him.

He'd assumed that Hermione had woken before him and left for the library, he hadn't expected to walk into his dorm and find her snuggled under the covers of his bed as she slept peacefully. She lay on her side facing him, a pillow being pulled against her as she held it to her, all but spooning it. Her features were soft and relaxed, her hair tied back from her face in a knot atop her head with a few strands having escaped. Her pale skin contrasted against the dark green of his bed covers and he could see that she lay diagonally across the bed.

She hadn't been joking, he realised. She _did_ take up the whole bed. Observing her, he came to the presumption that she'd likely returned from the bathroom the night before and found him asleep and refusing to sleep beside him, she'd left, coming to his dorm in retaliation, thinking that it would annoy him. It didn't, he realised. In fact, he didn't mind it in the slightest, strange given that he liked his space and privacy. The night she'd slept beside him after the Halloween Ball, he'd woken the next morning feeling more rested than he remembered. He woke to the feel of her magical aura surrounding him and even now, with her sleeping and being unaware of his presence, being vulnerable before him, he could feel her magic drifting to greet him.

A thought flittered through his mind. How had she gotten in? He was certain she wouldn't have known the password and knowing that the magic on his dorm wasn't as powerful as the magic surrounding the common room entrance, he deduced that she'd simply dismantled it, eradicating the need for a password.

She made a little noise in her sleep and his eyes darted back to her. Smirking, he left her to her sleep and crossed to his bathroom, intending to shower and ready for the day. Salazar knows he needed it.

~000~000~000~

Hermione awoke in a bed that was familiar to her, a bed that she'd woken in twice before. Groaning, she rolled onto her back and stretched her body out, her arms lifting over her head and her back arching, Hermione groaning when her back clicked and she slumped into the mattress with a satisfied sigh. Pushing the fallen strands of hair back from her face, she rolled onto her side, snuggling into the warmth the covers offered and her eyes closed before they flew open, widening slightly at the sight of Tom Riddle stood in the doorway of the bathroom. He casually leaned against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest, his hair damp and a towel wrapped about his hips but being otherwise naked.

"Urg! What are you doing here?" She grumbled.

He arched an eyebrow. "This is _my_ dorm. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I thought that was obvious," she rolled her eyes. "You slept in my bed so I thought it only fair that I sleep in yours. Why? Does it annoy you?" She asked innocently.

His mouth twitched. "No."

"No?" She echoed, deflating.

"No, I'm not opposed to you sleeping in my bed."

She frowned in disappointment and he chuckled.

"What time is it?" She sighed.

"Last I checked, not long after seven," he shrugged.

She rolled over onto her back, her hand coming up to her mouth to stifle a yawn and then she pushed herself up into a sitting position, moving the pillow she'd been previously spooning behind her to prop her up.

"It's quiet out there?"

He nodded. "Most don't make an appearance until after nine o'clock."

"That should make sneaking out easier," she said to herself, running her hands over her face and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, taking a moment to cast a quick Breath Freshening Charm.

She much preferred using a toothbrush as not only was it habit, but manually cleaning her teeth ensured it was done properly as opposed to the quick work of magic. Once she returned to her rooms she'd brush her teeth but for the time being, she'd settle for the charm.

Lowering her hands, she blew a curl out of her face before saying, "For God's Sake, put some clothes on," seeing Tom still stood in the doorway with nothing but a towel for coverage.

He smirked. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, I've seen more shirtless men that you have," she assured him. "It's chilly in here, you'll catch a cold."

"Ah, is that you showing concern?" He arched an eyebrow. "Twice in the space of twelve hours, my, I truly am flattered."

He pushed away from the door frame and approached, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed, his head tilted slightly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" He asked angelically.

" _That_ ," she replied, eyeing him warily, seeing his too innocent expression.

His mouth twitched and his eyes flashed as they trailed her covered form, only being able to see her shoulders and arms but that didn't seem to bother him.

"No."

"No?"

"No. What happened last night..." She paused, his mouth twitching into an arrogant smirk as she searched for the word. "Well, it happened and you certainly proved yourself capable of..."

"Satisfying you? Pleasing you? Fucking you like no one else has?" He interrupted.

She scowled at him, folding her arms over her chest.

"The point being, it happened. And honestly, I'm not sure I want it to happen again."

"Excuse me?" He questioned, his arrogance fading into surprise.

"You heard me. I'm fairly certain that it was just my hormones acting up. I hadn't had sex for a couple of years and then you were suddenly there. The itch has been scratched and now I've gotten you out of my system."

"You said you'd be mine," he replied, his eyes narrowing, his hands folding into fists, the muscles in his abdomen and arms visibly twitching and his magic slowly drifted about the room, Hermione taking a deep, calming breath and fighting off the addling effects it had on her brain.

"No, I never. What I said was, 'I agree to be yours and you will be mine?'" She quoted. "I was simply seeking clarification. I didn't _agree_ to anything. Now, if you don't mind, I best return to my own room and ready for the day."

She gripped the edge of the blanket and threw it away from her before shifting off the bed and retrieving her slippers. Standing, she found Tom stood before her, staring down at her with his slowly darkening eyes, the blue morphing to onyx.

"I know you want me."

"Do I?" She challenged.

"Yes," he said confidently. Lowering his head, he muttered, "If you truly didn't want me, then you'd stop me. If you don't want me, then walk away."

Hermione stared up at him, her eyes wide and fearful, watching as he drew closer.

"Stop me," he commanded, his mouth inches from hers. "I dare you," he challenged.

Her heart pounded, her head swam and her stomach knotted, and when his lips brushed hers, her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed. She slumped against him, her arms reaching up and folding around his neck, her hands fisting into his damp hair and she pressed her mouth firmly against his.

She felt his smirk and heard his triumphant chuckle as his hands settled on her hips and lowered, reaching just beneath her arse before he lifted her, Hermione slotting her legs around his hips and crossing her ankles behind his back.

That familiar tingle raced through her, fire dancing beneath her skin, her magic flowing free and mingling with his. All because of a kiss.

She knew she was screwed. Now she knew she _did_ want him again. It wasn't just a one time thing. There something about him. Something about his powerful, intoxicating magic that swarmed her, something about his comforting scent of citrus and power, something about his infuriating smirk and arrogance. She shouldn't want him, she knew that it was wrong, but she couldn't help herself. She should hate him, despise him, loathe him. She knew what he was going to do, she knew of the suffering he'd caused, she knew he was going to destroy the world she loved so much, but she reminded herself that he hadn't done it yet.

Right now, he was still a teenage boy, a teenage boy that was angry at the world, that was still learning, that was hormonal. There was still time for someone to have a positive influence on him and convince him otherwise, to convince him to turn his power and intelligence to another purpose. He could change the Wizarding World for the better. And she had to be the one to make that happen. She would be his most trusted confidant and advisor. She would steer him right.

Sighing when his tongue parted her lips and met hers, Hermione tasting his minty toothpaste, she tightened her grip on his hair, feeling her back pressing against the dishevelled bed covers and Tom hovering over her. He drew his mouth back, dragging his lips over her cheek and down to her neck, Hermione tipping her head to offer more skin, sighing happily when his hands moved to cup and palm her breasts over the silk of her nightgown.

She shifted her hips, searching for friction but not finding it, his chuckle of amusement vibrating against her skin.

"Do you want me, Hermione?" He muttered against her ear.

"No," she breathed out.

"Liar," he responded.

His hands fell lower, curling around the hem of her nightgown and he slowly lifted it, meeting no resistance from Hermione as she arched her back and then lifted her upper body, allowing it to clear her head and shoulders. Her nightgown hit the ground and his hands returned to her soft, warm body, feeling the raised scar tissue as his fingers danced across her torso. One hand shifted to her breast, cupping and kneading as the other continued south, a hum or approval sounding from him when he found there was no fabric acting as a barrier to her centre. It seemed that although she'd showered and dressed in clean clothing the night before, she hadn't deemed it important to adorn knickers. And in that moment, he very much approved.

His fingers slipped through her folds, spreading her arousal before he allowed two fingers to enter her, his thumb reaching up to circle the little bundle of nerves. She gasped for breath, her body arching against him, her hold on him tightening.

"Do you wish to change your mind?" He asked, his breath ghosting over her skin.

"No," she said breathlessly, stubbornly shaking her head.

Feeling both amused and exasperated, he knew he had to do something else, something that would break her control, that would get her to admit what he already knew.

He moved his mouth lower, peppering her chest with kisses before his mouth closed around her nipple, his chuckle sending a tingle down her spine when she arched into him and tugged at his hair painfully, her nails digging into his scalp. Her hips rocked against his hand and he moved his mouth to the other breast, lavishing it with attention. When he felt the fluttering of her walls around his fingers, he drew his hand back, Hermione whining in protest and lifting her head, glaring at him through half-lidded eyes.

Undeterred, he unwound her legs from his hips and moved his mouth lower, travelling down her abdomen, his tongue tracing the length and shape of her scar before he placed a kiss to her left hip, his mouth moving towards her bellybutton and then moving lower. He settled himself between her thighs, his shoulders nudging her legs wider and he lifted his gaze, locking with her now wide and glassy eyes, seeing her mouth parted with little puffs of air leaving her. Smirking, he lowered his mouth and took a tentative swipe through her folds, Hermione crying out, her body sinking into the mattress and her hands burying in the covers.

This was something he'd never done for any of the witches he'd bedded. He neither had an interest nor saw the point in such an act, but with her, he found himself wanting to give her this pleasure. And as with everything in life, he strived to be the best and to perfect it.

Her arousal was almost overpowering to his sense of smell and he briefly noted that as he took another swipe with his tongue, she seemed to taste like tangy honey. Fitting, he thought.

Given his lack of experience in this area, something he wasn't going to admit to her, he thought it best to simply act confident whilst he experimented, seeing how each action would affect her, mentally recording her reactions, from cries to muttered obscenities, from her body arching to her legs trembling and snapping shut, trapping him. At that point, he used his hands to pin her in place, feeling fairly confident that he was doing well with each swipe of his tongue, suck of his mouth and teasing dip into her entrance.

He released one hand from holding her in place and buried his fingers in her, hearing her breathless cries as he used his mouth and tongue in tandem, her hips rocking against his mouth and fingers and when her walls fluttered around his fingers, he twisted them in search of the spot that would end her. He found it and she cried out louder, her hands twisting the bed covers in her fist and her back arching as her body trembled. Tom nursed her through her orgasm, prolonging the pleasure and he didn't stop until she slumped into the mattress, boneless.

Smiling smugly, he pushed himself to his knees, briefly cleaning his face with the towel around his hips, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. Hermione lay sprawled on his bed, her chest heaving, her mouth parted as pants left her, her eyes closed and her skin flushed pink, from her head down to her breasts. She was beautiful.

"Are you certain that you do not want me?" He asked.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused as she stared at him. "Two can play that game, Tom."

He arched an eyebrow, watching her as she slowly climbed to her knees and moved closer to him, her mouth fusing to his, surprising him when she parted his lips and slipped her tongue inside, seemingly unbothered by the taste of herself on his tongue. Before he had the chance to take control of the kiss, she drew back, her mouth blazing kisses over his cheek, down his neck and moving lower. She licked and nipped at his abdomen, tracing each ridge and line with her tongue and when she reached the towel, she had it unfolded and thrown to the ground faster than he could blink.

He took a steady breath when her hand wrapped around him, pumping slowly and lifting her eyes, looking up at him under her lashes as she sat on her knees, her tongue darted out and swiped over the head, gathering the pre-come. He inhaled sharply, his hands clenching into fists and his eyes closed briefly before opening again. He expected her to tease him, to draw it out, to make it painfully slow for him, he didn't expect her to open her mouth and lean forward, the head of his length disappearing into her mouth as she sucked, her tongue swirling around him as if he were a sugar quill.

He hissed, his hands coming up to her hair, releasing the mass of curls from its restraint, it spilling down her back and over her shoulders like a cloud. _Much better_ , he thought. His hands burying in her hair, the soft, curly strands tangling about his fingers as he stared down at her with his dark, heated gaze, watching and feeling as she teasingly took more of into her mouth until she couldn't take anymore, her hand curling around the remainder of his length and the other settling against his hip, her nails digging into his skin and her grip tight.

She worked her mouth over him, hollowing her cheeks and bobbing her head, her tongue tracing patterns and shapes, in fact, he was certain she was... She was spelling _her_ name.

He tightened his grip on her hair, gasping out a rushed series of hisses that he was unable to contain, his hips snapping forward and his gaze locked on hers as she looked up at him from beneath her long lashes, her eyes fluttering closed every so often. When she moaned, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine and over his length, his head tipped back and he clenched his jaw, trying to hold it off. And it was working, until she dragged her teeth over him and did something with her tongue, her hand tightening around the base of his length and she released her magic, it deliberately slamming into him. He would swear the force of it almost knocked him over.

He didn't warn her, he knew she knew what she was doing to him and she looked completely unsurprised when a series of hisses escaped his clenched teeth and his body went taut as he found his release, filling her mouth. Without blinking, she swallowed everything he had to give her and when his grip on her hair slackened, she drew back with a 'pop', releasing her hold on him and reaching up to swipe her index finger over the corner of her mouth, gathering anything that escaped.

She leaned back, staring up at him smugly as he breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling and he set his hand against the bedpost to keep him upright.

"Do you want me, Tom?" She asked lightly.

His gaze snapped to hers, seeing her completely unphased or unembarrassed about her nakedness and what she'd just done to him. Now, he'd had blowjobs before and no matter how enthusiastic the witch had been, there'd always been embarrassment and blushing afterwards. Hermione didn't have that problem. She was too confident in herself and her body, not caring what anyone thought, especially him. She didn't need reassurance from him, it was one of the things he respected about her.

She was confident and she'd known what she was doing. That brought the realisation that she'd done it before, no doubt with the one that had taken her virginity. He felt possessiveness flare up within him.

"Yes."

She blinked, taken aback by his response, by the sheer conviction he'd put in that single word.

"Do you want me, Hermione?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," she finally admitted.

"See how much easier it is to admit your feelings?" He tipped his head.

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted when there was a knock on the door. Taking a breath as annoyance welled within him at being interrupted, especially when Hermione was naked and in his bed, Tom climbed from the bed and reached for the towel, wrapping it around his hips and securing it. Approaching the door, he peered over his shoulder to see Hermione pulling the blanket to cover her form, holding it securely in place, only her shoulders and arms showing.

Opening the door, he peered around the edge to see it being Malfoy and he opened the door wider, stepping into view, his form partially hiding Hermione.

His eyebrow arched and his mouth twitched in amusement, seeing his usually composed follower at a complete loss for words as he stared shamelessly, his eyes darting between him and over his shoulder at Hermione.

Tom looked behind him, seeing Hermione lounging in his bed, without a care in the world, still covered by the blanket as she ran her hand through her hair, trying to tame it. Despite the covers, it was painfully obvious she was naked beneath it, and the mouth-shaped bruises that had formed from the night before were clear to see, as were the fading red marks from earlier that morning. Tom was aware of the bruises on his own neck, having seen them in the mirror after stepping from the shower and he glanced down his body, spying the fading red marks on his chest and stomach. The marks she'd given him before she'd taken him in her pretty little mouth.

"Yes?"

Malfoy startled, his eyes darting back to him.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy cleared his throat. "I simply thought it best to ensure you were well. When you did not show in the common room before we headed to breakfast, we grew worried."

"Well, as you can see, I am _very_ well," he smirked. Malfoy shifted on his feet, understanding _why_ he'd not shown in the common room. He'd been otherwise engaged. "Thank you for your concern."

"Yes, and I am well, too. Thanks for asking," said Hermione lightly.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder, arching an amused eyebrow, seeing her completely unconcerned about the fact she was naked in his bed and covered by only a blanket whilst one of his followers stood in the doorway.

"Good morning, Abraxas, do you mind if I call you that?"

He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet and darting a questioning glance to him. Tom nodded his permission that he might address her in her current state of dress.

"Good morning, Miss. Nilrem. No, I do not mind."

She arched an eyebrow, her mouth twitching. "In that case, you may call me Hermione. Say, would you mind being a dear and fetching me some tea. I'm parched."

"Oh... Of course," he blinked slowly.

"Wonderful, perhaps some breakfast, too? I've worked up quite the appetite."

"Anything you wish," he replied, bowing before taking his leave after Tom dismissed him with a silent nod.

Closing the door, Tom turned towards her and arched an amused eyebrow.

"I don't believe Abraxas has ever been asked to fetch tea before," he commented.

She shrugged her shoulders. "It seems fitting, doesn't it? A Pureblood being treated as a house-elf. I've been treated unfairly and unkindly by many who believed they were better than me. I admit, I quite enjoyed giving him a task one might give a servant. How the might Pureblood has fallen, waiting on a Half-blood."

His mouth twitched into a smile. He'd always enjoyed her vengeful side, even if this was remarkably tame compared to what she'd done to Carrow and Macmillan.

"I don't believe he will appreciate such treatment," he remarked.

"I don't particularly care," she shrugged her shoulders once more. "He's too afraid of me to refuse," she said, Tom's mouth twitching in pride. "And it's not as if I'm asking him to clean my rooms and do my laundry. I simply asked if he would bring me some tea and breakfast and once he returns and I have eaten, I will take my leave, ready for the day and head to the library. This not how I planned on spending my morning."

"Are you complaining? This is much better than spending the morning in a dusty library."

"That's debatable," she argued.

He chuckled. "It's adorable that you think I'm going to let you leave."

"Excuse me?" Her voice rose slightly.

"I'm not done with you yet."

"For God's Sake," she sighed, burying her face in her hands. "I can't take a repeat of last night, especially after this morning and I do have studying to do. We've that exam in ancient runes and Arithmancy next week."

"We both know you already know the material, more so than the professors."

"Did you just compliment me?" She lifted her head from her hands.

He shrugged. "It's true, just as the same is said for me. If it were allowed, we'd have both graduated by now and be free of this hell hole."

"You're so cheery in the morning," she deadpanned. "Seriously, stop, it's as though you've been hit with several Cheering Charms. I can't stand it."

"Very funny," he rolled his eyes, approaching the bed.

He grasped the edge of the blanket and tugged it away from her, Hermione scowling up at him as the chill in the room hit her skin, it breaking out in goosebumps. He held his hand out to her in offering and she eyed it cautiously before slipping her hand into his. He pulled her to her knees and folded his arms around her, tugging her forward and into him, his mouth lowering and pressing against hers.

She sighed, her arms looping around his neck and his tongue moving into her mouth, Tom noting that she'd cast the Breath Freshening Charm again, likely to rid of the taste of him on her tongue.

Before either of them knew it, he'd lifted her from the bed and she'd wrapped her legs around him, her back hitting his bedroom door as he pinned her in place with his body. His hand was buried between them, his fingers moving in and out of her as she moved her hips, her noises of pleasure muffled by his mouth. She reached down, pushing his towel down his hips until it pooled on the ground around his feet and her hand circled his hardened length, pumping over him. She cried out when he unexpectedly shoved her over the edge, her head tipping back and her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. It came out of nowhere and she'd had no warning.

Smirking arrogantly, he allowed her a moment to catch her breath before he was positioned at her entrance and with a sharp thrust, he filled her. Her breath caught in her throat and her head thudded against the door as it tipped back, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly and her nails digging into him.

He groaned, his head tipping forward to press against her shoulder and when she wriggled her hips impatiently, he chuckled before drawing back thrusting forward, repeating the sharp, fast rhythm from the night before, something he seemed to prefer.

She clung to him tightly, gasping and panting for breath, her noises of pleasure catching in her throat, her body tightening around him as his mouth worked at her neck, her back colliding with the door on every thrust. When she felt herself approaching the cliff, she knew she wouldn't be physically capable of dealing with a repeat of the night before, not when he'd already gotten her off twice that morning, the smug bastard.

And when he changed the angle of his hips, nudging her little bundle of nerves with every thrust and finding that spot inside her, she tipped over the edge, her body clamping around him tightly, Hermione crying out and she shoved her magic against him, Tom swaying both under the force and from supporting her weight.

His eyes widened before they snapped shut, his jaw clenching, his body going taut and a series of hisses falling from his mouth. He slumped against her, pinning her against the door as her hands ran soothingly through his hair as they caught their breath.

"Do you agree to mine? Will you help me?"

His head lifted, his gaze locking with hers.

"I will agree to help you only if I believe it is the right thing to do. If you wish for me to do something for you that I do not agree with, I won't do it. And whilst I will agree to being yours, I do not and will not _belong_ to you. I am capable of my own thoughts and feelings. I am a human being, not a house-elf nor an object one owns. Agreed?"

His mouth set into a straight line, not looking pleased with her words but knowing it was the best he was going to get from her, he nodded.

"Agreed."

He set her back on her feet and Hermione padded over to the bed, collapsing onto it, staring up at the ceiling with Tom doing the same beside her. Barely two minutes passed before there was a knock on the door and Hermione grumbled in annoyance. Couldn't she enjoy her post-orgasmic bliss in peace?

She pushed herself up into a seating position, her eyes searching for her nightgown and robe, but she couldn't see it.

"Where the hell are my clothes?" She demanded.

Slowly opening an eye and appearing to be in no rush to answer the door, he slipped his arms behind his head, propping it up.

"House-elves likely took them to be washed," he shrugged. "They don't need to physically collect them, their magic does it for them."

"I have no clothes, I can't traipse through the castle naked," she pointed out.

His mouth twitched before he rose to his feet, crossing over to his chest of drawers, digging out a pair of boxers and trousers before he quickly slipped them on. He then removed a shirt from the drawer above and threw it to her, Hermione catching it and quickly dressing, doing up the majority of the buttons, being unsurprised to see that the sleeves fell past her wrists and the hem past mid-thigh.

She tugged her hair free and fasted one more button, feeling it was a little too risky and when she lifted her gaze, she saw Tom's tilted head, his ice-blue gaze and his twitching mouth.

"What?"

"You look good in my clothes," he remarked with a casual shrug of his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you say that to all the witches."

"No, I never allowed any of my previous trysts anywhere near my dorm or bed, and neither did they require the need for any of my clothes, not that I'd have cared if they did."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm a special case then?"

"I don't want anyone but me seeing you in any compromising or intimate settings," he replied, his eyes flashing possessively.

He crossed over to the door and opened it, Malfoy and Dolohov being stood on the other side. Whilst Russian appeared to be unphased, the slight twitch of his mouth giving away his amusement, Malfoy looked entirely uncomfortable, his face flushed pink and his eyes locked on the tray he was carrying.

Tom knew he could've easily levitated them, eliminating the need for a helper, but he also knew that Dolohov was a nosy twat and he wouldn't miss an opportunity such as this. Whilst Malfoy held the tea tray fitted with a teapot, two cups and saucers, two teaspoons, a pot of sugar cubes and a pitcher of milk, Dolohov held a tray that sat some fruit, toast, bacon and sausages.

"Morning," Dolohov greeted cheerily, not bothering to hide the fact he was peering over Tom's shoulder to see Hermione stood behind him, dressed in only his shirt.

Following his gaze, Tom was unsurprised to see the remnant glow of the Contraception Charm, no doubt having been cast twice. Putting her wand on the bedside table, she lifted her gaze to the wizards in the doorway.

"Dolohov," she greeted calmly, unashamed of her appearance or of the activities they'd been partaking in no more than ten minutes ago.

Tom realised that they'd obviously returned with Hermione's requested items around the time he'd been fucking her against his door, which is why they'd waited a couple of minutes to knock. It was too much of a coincident for them to have returned just after. He should've had the thought to cast a Silencing Charm. Whilst he wanted everyone to know that she was his, he didn't want them to see or hear her so intimately. No, that privilege was only for him.

"Lovely morning, no?" She asked, pushing her hair back from her face, his shirt rising slightly before lowering back into place when she dropped her arm.

"Yes, for some more than others, I see," the Russian replied, his mouth twitching into a smirk.

"Then perhaps you best sort your attitude and stop picking on those weaker than you. You might find your morning starting as mine did. Women don't like bullies," she shrugged.

Dolohov scowled at her and Tom arched an eyebrow at Hermione in amusement but he stepped aside, allowing Malfoy and Dolohov to step inside so they might set the trays on his desk, Tom noting Malfoy's gaze refusing to look towards Hermione. For a man that boasted about the number of witches he'd bedded, he was easily embarrassed.

" _Blyad_ ," muttered Dolohov, after setting the tray on the desk and turning around. "Your back!" He exclaimed with wide eyes.

Curious, Tom crossed over to the floor standing mirror in the corner of his room and turned, looking over his shoulder at his reflection, surprised to see the red scratch marks that littered his back, some from the night before and some from that morning. Some appeared deeper than others where she'd actually removed the skin and others would fade without injury.

Tom looked to Hermione, seeing that she looked unapologetic, in fact, she looked pleased with herself as she folded her arms over her chest and her mouth twitched.

"What?" She questioned innocently. "I'm like a cat, I like to mark my territory, and you can't say anything," she said, gesturing to the mouth-shaped marks on her neck that were unhidden by his shirt.

Malfoy flushed darker and Dolohov eyed her curiously, Tom's gaze narrowing furiously. He knew that look. He was sizing up _his_ witch. Sizing her up in the same manner he did to witches he wanted to fuck. Oh, hell would freeze over before that happened. He'd release the damn basilisk from the Chamber and have it target the Russian bastard before he let that happen.

"Abraxas," greeted Hermione. "Thank you for bringing breakfast, you're a lifesaver."

"Hermione," he mumbled in response, refusing to look at her, something she found incredibly amusing.

"Out," snapped Tom. "Return in one hour and bring the others with you."

Dolohov and Malfoy were quick to obey and didn't need to be told twice as the door closed behind them.

"Okay...?" Said Hermione slowly.

Not wishing to explain himself, he crossed over to his desk and took a seat, looking to Hermione expectantly. Rolling her eyes, she approached, her wand in hand and making as if to conjure a second chair but he reached for her, tugging her to sit in his lap, arching an eyebrow at her surprised expression.

"We shall eat breakfast and once I've held a short meeting, you will return to your rooms, ready and I will take you to Hogsmeade this afternoon."

"I was planning on going to the library," she replied.

Reaching for the teapot, she filled both cups and then put it aside. After adding a splash of milk to her own cup, she added a third to his before dropping a sugar cube in and reaching for the spoon, stirring it. He nodded in thanks when she set it before him and after stirring her own tea, sans sugar, she set the spoon aside and brought the cup to her mouth, taking a delicate sip, sighing as the hot liquid slid down her throat and seemed to warm her from the inside out.

"You may do so tomorrow..."

"Oh, _may_ I? How very thoughtful of you," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes, something he chose to ignore to avoid an argument.

"I wish to take you into Hogsmeade. There have been many rumours floating around the castle and today, we will make our relationship official and known to the public. Of course, we will be scrutinised by many," he said, not needing to say who he was referring to as she already knew. Dumbledore. "And so we must do our best to hold a united front. You as my girlfriend and I as your boyfriend."

"Wait...You want more than just sex?" She questioned, looking truly baffled.

He wanted them to be official? Publicly? He'd put labels on them? Well, there goes her expectation of a purely sexual relationship. Something she'd have been more than happy with. She'd rationalised having sex with him. There didn't have to be feelings involved, there were no expectations and people had sex with those they hated all the time. See, rational? Having an actual relationship with him was something she might morally struggle with.

"I did promise to satisfy you in _every_ way, did I not?" He arched an eyebrow, finding her silence amusing.

"You did," she finally said.

"Then that settles it. Meet me by the entrance doors at noon, and dress for the weather, it cold and raining today. Hermione Nilrem, I'm taking you on a date."

 _Merlin, what was the world coming to?_ Thought Hermione. Tom Riddle was taking her on a date as her boyfriend.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 20

**Saturday 25th November 1944**

"We really must do something about my clothing," said Hermione, stepping out from Tom's bathroom sporting nothing but the shirt he'd given her earlier and her slippers protecting her feet from the cold stone floor.

"Must we?" He arched an eyebrow, his eyes moving to her as he looked at her through the mirror he stood before, absentmindedly smoothing down his woollen olive-green jumper and righting the collar of his white shirt, pulling it free and folding it over the neckline.

"Yes," her eyes narrowing at his innocent expression and the twitch of his mouth, not blind to the way his ice-blue orbs glanced at her bare legs. "Unless you want others to see me so inappropriately dressed?" She challenged, deliberately stretching her arms above her head until the hem of her shirt rose, dangerously close to revealing her uncovered mound. His eyes narrowed darkly. "That's what I thought," she said smugly.

Without permission and neither bothering to ask for it, she crossed to his chest of drawers and began pulling the drawers open in search of something she might wear.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought that was obvious," she rolled her eyes, not that he could see, and then she closed the drawer containing neatly folded socks, a drawer filled with ties and a third with jumpers made of wool, cotton and cashmere. "I can't risk summoning clothing from my dorm as it is most likely to be seen flying down the corridors and to here, and neither can I ask a house-elf to retrieve my clothing for me, lest they say something to one of the professors about me being in here. So, that means I need to borrow some of your clothing until I'm able to find my way back to my dorm."

Opening the fourth drawer, she plucked a pair of underwear free before closing it and removing a pair of black trousers from the drawer below. As she slipped the underwear on beneath her shirt and then pulled the trousers up her legs, both items being too big for her, she reached for her wand on the desk and muttered an Alteration Charm and followed it with a Transfiguration Charm, the trousers morphing into a skirt much like the one she wore as part of her school uniform.

Tucking her shirt into the waistband of her skirt and rolling the sleeves up to her wrists, she looked more presentable for the guests they were expecting in a matter of minutes. Nodding to herself, she lifted her eyes, seeing Tom watching her with an amusedly arched eyebrow.

"What?" She questioned. "You'll get them back and the charms I used are more advanced than the ones taught here."

"Naturally," he tipped his head, unsurprised.

"Which means it won't damage or stretch the material and once the magic's worn off or been reversed, it will be as though it had never happened," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "At least now, I won't have Dolohov staring at me so intensely." She saw his expression darken. "Do I have to watch myself around him?"

"He won't lay a finger on you," he snapped.

"Only asking," she held her hands up in surrender. "And I don't need your protection. I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. Should Dolohov do anything I deem offensive or inappropriate, I won't hesitate to put him in his place."

She felt him reigning in his magic before she saw the calm, cool mask slipping back into place. "Anything of interest?"

"More than likely," her mouth twitched.

He sighed before turning to the mirror, reaching for his comb and raking it through his hair, Hermione watching curiously as he worked to get that perfect sweep of his hair falling over his forehead in a single wave.

Realising she had to do something with her own nest of curls, she gathered them all together before securing them in place at the base of her neck with a Sticking Charm. When she returned to her dorm, she'd better tame them.

"This meeting, I'm to assume it's to tell them about me? Am I being brought into the fold officially?"

He set his comb aside and casually slipped his hands into his pockets as he turned to face her.

"What exactly do you know? What have you _seen_?"

"Perhaps more than you realise," she shrugged. "I suspect that is a conversation we must have later in order to ensure there is no confusion. After all, I can't help you unless I'm positive about what it is you need help with, even if I do have my suspicions. So for now, what are we telling them? Do you wish to inform them about my _talents_?"

His gaze lowered thoughtfully, his bottom lip being captured by his teeth.

"They know you are powerful, they know you are vengeful; they have witnessed it."

"But is that enough for them? Will they question your choices? After all, from what I've heard, I'm the first witch you've publically and actively shown interest in. So, what makes me so different from the rest?"

"Everything," his eyes snapped to her, his gaze intense and hard to break away from.

A knock on the door sounded, alerting them to the arrival of their expected guests and after taking a moment to ensure she was presentable, she crossed to the door, absentmindedly sending a charm towards the bed to plump the pillows and make it up. And before she could forget, she conjured a pair of glasses and slipped them into place, retaking her nonthreatening charade.

Opening the door, she noted six pairs of eyes immediately lock on her, one of which avoided her gaze with a pink tint rising to his cheeks, and another arched an eyebrow.

"Gentlemen," she greeted, "You are one minute later than expected. Tardiness is not acceptable."

She opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing them entrance before she closed the door behind them.

"We were here at ten o'clock sharp, as expected," Dolohov held her gaze unflinchingly. "You were one minute late opening the door."

"Then perhaps you should arrive one minute early so when the door is opened and you are granted access, you are on time," she replied, her gaze darting to Tom's amusedly arched eyebrow, his expression all but saying, ' _really?_ ' She shrugged in response. "So, with the pleasantries out of the way, let's get this over with, I've a date in Hogsmeade to prepare for," her eyes cut to Tom unhappily, ignoring the surprised, shared glances of the six wizards and she also knew that they were more than aware that the shirt she was wearing wasn't her own. "Oh, don't act so surprised," she sighed, "I know Pureblood wizards are bigger gossips than teenage witches," she rolled her eyes, ignoring Tom's snort. "So, don't mind me."

Giving a dismissive wave of her hand, she stepped around them and crossed paths with Tom before disappearing into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, Tom being amused by the way their gazes followed her and they stared at the closed door in disbelief.

"Is there something you wish to say?" Asked Tom, drawing their eyes to him, seeing the way they all shuffled on their feet.

"You did it? You finally convinced her?" Nott questioned after clearing his throat.

Tom's mouth twitched victoriously. "You could say that. We have come to an agreement."

"And that would be?" Malfoy questioned.

"None of your business," Hermione answered, returning from the bathroom and coming to a stop beside Tom, folding her hands behind her back, seeing the way their eyes darted between them in both curiosity and fear. Yes, they made quite the pair, didn't they?

"What does she know?" Dolohov asked Tom.

" _She_ is standing right here, you prat," Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I do have a name, use it, I am not an object nor an animal," she warned. "And I know more than you realise, perhaps more than you do at this point in time."

He held her gaze unflinchingly. "And what makes you so indispensable?" He challenged.

"Are you questioning Tom's judgement?" She arched an eyebrow.

"No, merely curious regarding your purpose."

"Aside from my power, intelligence and knowledge of long since forgotten magics?" She listed. "As much as I hate to admit this, I am more like Tom than most realise. Have I not convinced the school population that I'm a weak, innocent, unthreatening waif of a witch?" At this, she deliberately removed her glasses and made a show of cleaning the lenses with the edge of her skirt, feeling the instant change in the atmosphere and Tom's amused gaze burning into her. "Have I not got the respect and praise of my teachers, when in fact, they've no idea of the magic I practice under this very roof and under their very noses? Have I not proven myself capable of and willing to break every rule in force, and without being caught or cautioned?" She looked to each of them in turn, seeing the way their expressions morphed into realisation and they all took the tiniest step back, Hermione noting the way their shoulders slumped ever so slightly when she slipped her glasses on once more. "I have nothing left to lose by aligning myself with Tom."

"And what's in this for you?"

"I don't know yet," she shrugged a shoulder lazily. "And neither is that any of your business. Anything that happens between Tom and I is not up for discussion nor gossip, and should I find out that you've done so, I promise, you will not like my response," she held Dolohov's gaze a moment longer before looking to Tom. "Do you require my presence further? If you wish for me to look presentable, I need time to wrestle this into submission," she gestured to her hair.

His mouth twitched. "No, I believe you've gotten your point across. I will see you at noon."

"Can't wait," she said sarcastically.

As she crossed to the door, she paused with her hand on the doorknob and twisted to look behind her.

"Abraxas?"

"Yes?" His voice squeaked before he cleared his throat, squared his shoulders and then repeated his question, his voice deeper.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Have you yet to learn the identity of the witch you are expected to marry?"

He blinked slowly, his eyes moving to Tom, seeing his questioningly cocked eyebrow and then to Hermione.

"A witch has yet to be selected," he replied.

"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "Well, given that November's coming to an end, I suspect you will be receiving an owl from your father in the next week."

"Excuse me?" He spluttered, his eyes widening.

Smiling, she offered a shrug of her shoulders before she tapped her wand to her head, disappearing from sight and then leaving out the door.

"How does she know that?" Malfoy questioned, looking to his fellow wizards and then to Tom.

"I suspect she is simply messing with you," Tom shrugged lazily despite being unconvinced. The witch knew something. He was certain of it. "She does seem to enjoy it, and who am I to tell her to stop? She is much easier to manage when she is happy. Anyway, the purpose of calling you here this morning is simple. One, to inform you of Nilrem's expected and increased presence, and two, she is off-limits," he warned, his gaze briefly locking with each wizard. "She is not to be touched by anyone without my permission."

"She is not as innocent as I thought she might be," Dolohov said boldly, obviously referring to what he might have heard earlier and having witnessed the marks she'd left on his back.

"No, she most certainly is not," Tom's mouth twitched, seeing the wizards share a surprised but mirthful glance. "And as I said, she is off-limits," he looked to Dolohov specifically, having seen the way the Russian bastard had looked at her. "And, finally, as before, I want her watched at all times. By tomorrow morning, I have no doubt that word will have spread regarding my relationship with Nilrem."

"You wish to publically court her?" Said Avery in surprise.

"Yes, do you take issues with my decision?"

"No, of course not, My Lord," he bowed his head.

"If I have not made myself clear, yes, I will be publically courting Nilrem. I have no doubt that Dumbledore will wish to speak with her or that he might try to intervene, and neither do I doubt that she might face some problems with the witches of the castle. Whilst I know she is formidable and vengeful, I don't wish harm to come to her and for that, I want her watched and followed at all times unless she is with me, is that understood?"

"Yes, My Lord," they chorused.

"That is all for now, you may go."

~000~000~000~

Hermione smoothed her pretty floral dress down for the umpteenth time and readjusted her cloak and hood, trying to keep herself distracted whilst she waited for Tom's arrival.

Hearing footsteps, she lifted her gaze, seeing the wizard in question approaching.

"It's not polite to keep a lady waiting," she chided.

"Then perhaps it's fortunate that you are no lady," he replied, his head tipped, his mouth twitching and his eyes gleaming.

She blinked slowly.

"Are you _teasing_ me?" She asked in disbelief.

"Is that not what boyfriends do?"

"I wouldn't know," she shrugged. "Never officially had one. And given what I know about you, I'd say you've never officially or publically had a girlfriend either, so, we're both going into this situation blindly. But I've witnessed a few things over the years regarding my friends' relationships so perhaps I might successfully pull this off. Anyway," she shook her head, "I suppose I can't be mad at you seeing as I was earlier than our agreed upon time."

"As was I," he pointed out. "Did I not tell you to dress for the weather?" He looked down at her heeled shoes and the fabric of her dress peeking from beneath her cloak, disapprovingly.

"It's not my fault," she argued. "I am a woman; all appropriately considered apparel includes dresses and skirts. Should I wear trousers, I imagine there to be a riot. As such, all I might do is charm my shoes to repel water, as well as my cloak and add a Warming Charm to fend off the cold. Thankfully, it appears to have stopped raining for the time being, so perhaps we best leave before the Heavens decide to open and we are caught in it."

Nodding, he held his arm out expectantly and she eyed it warily before reluctantly slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, walking beside him as they headed for the entrance courtyard.

The moment they stepped outside Hermione lifted her hood for not only warmth but to also keep the wind from battling with her hair. Whilst she had tamed it the best she could and pulled it back from her face in a tidy knot at the nape of her neck, she also knew it wouldn't require much for it all to come loose.

The walk to the carriages was quiet and they crossed paths with no one, the majority of the students already having left for Hogsmeade after breakfast whilst the rest had opted to stay at the castle and avoid the bad weather.

When they arrived, Hermione paused, eyeing the thestrals sadly, memories flooding to the forefront of her mind until she felt a slight tug and she lifted her gaze, noting Tom looking down at her questioningly.

"I'm fine," she sighed, giving her head a gentle shake before they continued forward, Hermione being surprised when Tom helped her into the carriage despite there being no need for him to do so as they currently had no witnesses.

They sat in silence for the journey to the little village and as they approached their destination, Hermione looked to Tom.

"What's the plan?"

"To make a public appearance."

She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "Obviously, but how do you wish to do that? A trip to the Three Broomsticks, maybe? And whilst we're here, is there anywhere, in particular, you wish to visit?"

"You don't wish to see Madam Puddifoot's?" He tipped his head. "It is _the_ spot for couples, or so I've heard."

She grimaced. "If you ever consider taking me there, not only will I personally kill you, but I'll be sure that we have a massive public breakup beforehand."

"Noted," he nodded once with a snort.

Whilst she was certain the God-awful decor of the tea room was a choice made by the current owner of her time, and she'd yet to see what Puddifoot's Grandmother deemed as stylistic for the 40s, Hermione couldn't shake the memories and had no desire to set foot in the tea room. The Three Broomsticks, on the other hand, she was curious to see the changes, if there were any at all. From what she'd heard, Rosemerta disliked change and when she'd taken over from her father, she was said to have changed very little.

"Is there anywhere you wish to visit?"

"Tomes and Scrolls," she said without thought.

Tom wasn't surprised.

"And do they possess anything of interest?" He arched an eyebrow, clearly referring to the secret collection he'd learned was hidden in Flourish and Blotts.

"Possibly," she nodded. "But given the location and size of the shop, I doubt they will have anything I've yet to see or read but it doesn't hurt to look, I suppose. Perhaps I'll be pleasantly surprised. And do you need to replenish your stock of wizochoc?"

"I believe so," he nodded. "And you sugar quills?"

"Most likely."

When the carriage halted to a stop, Tom exited first and then helped her down and to the ground, as would a perfect gentleman and doting boyfriend. Once more slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, they continued down the path and officially entered the small village, slowly making their rounds.

Hermione did her absolute best to ignore the whispers and stares that picked up amongst the other students, and she kept her chin lifted and head high, allowing Tom to lead the way. It seemed he wished to visit Honeydukes first.

The shop all but fell silent when they stepped inside and all eyes turned towards them, Tom barely batting an eyelash as he led the way towards the sugar quill section, knowingly selecting a handful of the red-coloured treats before bringing notice to the new flavours that had recently been released.

Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and read through the labels.

"Kiwi and lime?"

"Might be a little on the sour side," he replied, "I'm not sure you can handle it," he flashed a teasing smile, Hermione being able to hear him perfectly well giving the silence in the shop.

 _Oh, he was good,_ thought Hermione.

"Pineapple and pumpkin?"

"You don't like pineapple," he reminded.

Hermione blinked in surprise. How did he know that?

"Hmm, orange and lemon? Or perhaps mango and apple?" He offered.

"Both have the potential to tip the scale either way, what do you think?" She questioned.

He looked down at her and then back to the selection of treats before them thoughtfully, ultimately reaching out and grabbing a handful of each.

"We'll try both."

"Tom, that is far too much," she tried to argue.

"Nonsense," he disagreed. "You know how I love to spoil you, and you most certainly deserve it for being the wonderful woman you are," he gave her a dazzling smile in which pulled a number of audible sighs from the witches in the shop.

Depositing the treats in the little basket he'd collected upon entering the shop, he took her hand in his, pulling her through the throng of patrons, politely asking that they step aside so he might be granted access to the aisle containing the dark chocolate selection. Silently, Hermione reached for the chocoballs and wizochoc, setting them in the basket Tom had gripped in his hand.

"You know me so well, Love," he smiled down at her fondly.

Hermione wasn't sure how much more she could take. Honestly, Tom giving her those loving, flirty smiles, it was freaking her out. And the pet names, too? Really!

"Of course I do, it seems only right I take care of you as much as you do me," she gave a small smile before her eyes darted back to the shelves before her. "Oh, look, Tom. They've a new wizochoc bar with almonds, perhaps you'd like it?" She didn't give him the option to reply as she set two in the basket and then reached for another, turning it over in her hand and peering at the ingredients list. "Oh, raisins, you don't like raisins," she said knowingly, absentmindedly setting the chocolate bar back on the shelf and seeing his arched eyebrow before it dropped. "That should be enough to keep us going during our study sessions, don't you think?" She asked, peering down at the numerous items in the basket.

"I believe so," he nodded, "If not, we only need to send an order through owl post."

With his hand firmly wrapped around her much smaller one, he manoeuvred towards the till and set the basket on the counter before handing payment to the old man after he'd finished ringing up the sales and putting their purchases into a striped pink and yellow paper bag. Although Hermione wished to argue that she could pay for her own items, she knew better given the time frame and that they were supposed to be presenting a specific image.

After politely thanking the old man, Tom took the paper bag and pulled Hermione out of the shop and onto the street.

"Tomes and scrolls?" He smiled down at her.

"Perfect," she agreed.

They took the short walk to the book shop and when they entered, Hermione was grateful that it was almost empty. They spent some time quietly perusing the bookshelves with the other occasionally pointing out a book that they believed to be interesting or potentially helpful, and after quietly buying admittance into the hidden backroom, they both left feeling disappointed. As Hermione had expected, they had little to offer and the books they did have, she'd already read or could be found in the Restricted Section, Tom had muttered to her.

"Hungry?" Tom looked to her, his mouth twitching in amusement when Hermione's stomach had given a not so quiet rumble. "Well, I would be a terrible boyfriend if I did not see that you are fed," he remarked, both of them hearing the choked gasps that sounded from behind them, the group of witches that had taken to following them being responsible.

They opted to try a little cafe by the name of Flo's, Tom having never before visited and Hermione not recognising or remembering it from her own timeline, which meant it had either been bought out and had a name change, or it had closed before her arrival at Hogwarts her first year. She believed the latter to be the most likely, given that she remembered a shoe shop to be where the cafe was located.

Despite the small space, inside seemed to be light, airy and welcoming and Tom guided Hermione towards a table by the window, pulling her chair out for her before taking a seat opposite her. They glanced down at the menu, Tom deliberately invading her space as they shared the menu and once the grey-haired witch approached, she took Hermione's order of tomato soup and a buttered bread roll, and Tom's of shepherd's pie and they'd both opted for water as a beverage.

Whilst they waited for their food, Tom leaned in closer, his hand brushing a loose curl from out of her face and behind her ear, his fingertips ghosting her cheek as his gaze locked with hers.

"You're surprisingly good at this," Hermione muttered, being sure to keep her gaze locked with his, trying to give the impression of a love-struck young witch. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the crowd that had gathered outside the cafe and that was pointedly watching them. This was why he'd chosen a window seat.

"I know," he muttered in response.

"I understand you wish to present a united front, but pet names? Really?" She sighed in exasperation.

His mouth twitched. "I thought witches liked pet names."

"When have I ever given the impression that I am an ordinary witch?" She responded, her hand coming up to grip his and pulling it away from her face as she set it on the table, Tom twining their fingers together. "Would you like it if I walked around calling you honey? Or sugar plum?"

She saw his nose twitch and a laugh broke free, it only helping in putting on a show for the witches watching them.

"I see your point," he acquiesced. "No more pet names, I'll limit my usage when in public."

"You know, we don't have anything to prove to them, don't you? It's perfectly acceptable for relationships to be kept private, there are numerous couples that don't shove their business in everyone's faces or make their personal drama known to the school. And given both of our private, quiet natures, it wouldn't be all that surprising if our relationship was the same."

"But a little public display of affection never hurt anyone."

"It will hurt you if you continue with the dramatics," she warned.

He laughed, his eyes gleaming and his face lighting up when he smiled.

"That is exactly what I am referring to," she did her best not to scowl.

"I am not allowed to find your comments amusing?" He tipped his head.

"Amusing, yes. But you don't need to overcompensate. You're only making things more difficult for us. If we put on a display here, they'll be expecting one at Hogwarts and I don't have the energy or patience to do such a thing. When Slughorn finds out, I'm sure he'll do it for us," she rolled her eyes and he snorted at her.

"Yes, he has been our number one supporter from the beginning," he agreed. "The man loves to stick his nose where it doesn't belong."

Hearing the footsteps of the approaching witch, Tom pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead and then straightened in his chair, offering a charming smile to the old witch as their food was set before them.

Hermione was witness to the horrified, jealous and surprised reactions of the crowd gathered outside. Well, given her hunger, she thought it was a good job she'd never been a shy eater as she happily dipped her spoon into the soup and brought it to her mouth.

~000~000~000~

Hermione wasn't all that surprised when Tom showed up at her dorm, letting himself in without so much as a warning to expect him. She had considered changing the password but she'd already done so twice and she wouldn't put it past the wizard to somehow figure it out, and so, she thought it to be a waste of time.

Curfew had long since passed and with Tom's arrival, she assumed he'd finished his patrols for the night. She wasn't certain on his reasons for visiting her that night, and as she heard his footsteps in the living room, she made the decision that if he wished to see her, he was going to come to her, as it was, she was quite comfortable and didn't wish to move.

She was dressed for bed, wearing a ruby-red satin nightgown and the matching robe, the material soft and cool against her skin. Candles floated above and in the room, providing lighting so she might read her book without issue. She lay above the covers of her bed, her book sat before her whilst she lay on her stomach, her elbows pressed into the mattress with her hands propping her head up and her legs were bent at the knees, her ankles crossed.

Her bedroom door was nudged open further but she didn't raise her gaze, neither did she when he crossed to the bed and then took a seat, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"No shoes on the bed," was the only addressing she gave him, practically hearing the roll of his eyes. "Is there something you needed?" She asked, again, not looking up from her book but giving a lazy wriggle of her finger, the page turning silently. "I can only imagine it to be important given the time of night."

A book appeared before her, sitting atop her own and covering the pages so she could no longer read it. Blinking, she finally lifted her gaze to Tom, seeing him perched on her left, by her hip.

"I've removed the wardings," he informed her, his eyes flashing smugly.

That morning, before the arrival of the six wizards, Hermione had activated yet another warding for Tom to break on her book.

"Already?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, it was remarkably easy. If I am honest, I was somewhat disappointed; I was expecting more from you. It took me no more than an hour."

"And you are certain you have removed the wardings?" She checked.

"I am able to touch the book," he responded, pointedly reaching over to press his hand palm flat against the cover without receiving injury.

"But can you open it?" She tipped her head, her mouth twitching at the way his gaze narrowed.

Silently, he reached for the book, set in on the palm of his left hand and used his right hand to open the book to a random page. Three seconds passed as Tom darted his gaze between the empty pages and her before he gave a sudden hiss of pain and he slammed the book shut. His eyes darted down to it contemplatively.

"Oh, that is clever," he muttered.

"Thank you," she tipped her head before turning her eyes back to her book. "Is that all you came for?"

When she received no reply, she looked at him over her shoulder questioningly.

"Your comment to Malfoy this morning...?" He trailed off, allowing her to come to her own conclusions about what he was asking her.

"What? Does he not receive a letter from home every week without fail?" She said innocently.

Tom made a noise of amusement and gave his head a shake.

"So you were just messing with him? You haven't _seen_ anything?"

"Oh no, I have," she nodded, and seeing his arched eyebrow, she continued, "Whilst I'm not entirely certain when it will happen, I do know who he is to marry."

"And that is?"

"A French witch by the name of Marie Labelle."

He tipped his head curiously. "Is that all you have seen?"

"No," she shook her head. "She can't speak a lick of English, so I hope his French is up to it. And although I can't see the dynamics of their relationship, I do see a little blonde newborn in his future."

"An heir?"

"It's a boy," she nodded, her brow furrowing in remembrance. "Ah, Lucius, is the name I believe is chosen, unfortunately, he will be motherless. Marie will die in childbirth."

"And have seen anything regarding Nott or Lestrange?"

She nibbled at her lip, absentmindedly pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Both will marry, I'm not certain on the identity of the witches or the timelines, but I do know Nott will have one son... Oh wait, to his second wife, or is it his third? His first wife will suffer numerous miscarriages and take her own life. And Lestrange, I see two sons in his future."

"Rosier, Dolohov, Avery?"

"Not yet," she shrugged slightly.

"And me? What do you see for me?"

 _And there is it,_ thought Hermione. She'd been waiting for it.

"I was wondering when you'd bring that up," she admitted, mentally bookmarking the page number before closing her book and pushing herself up until she sat on her knees, her legs tucked beneath her as she faced him, very little space separating them. "I've seen many things for you, and they are rather confusing; they contradict one another. As I've said before, the things I see, if they are of the past then nothing can be done, but if they are of the future, nothing is set in stone. It's all about intent and decision making, see? But one thing is clear, you are set to change the world, and with my help, I will ensure it is for the better, not the worst."

His head tipped slightly, his gaze carefully analyzing her expression.

"What do you want?"

"What do _you_ think I want?" He deflected.

"Power. World domination," she answered without thought. His eyes flashed darkly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But, Tom, you must be incredibly careful. Should you choose the wrong path, you will not change the world but rather destroy it, and in the process, you will not only lose yourself but your life."

He tried to hide the horror that flashed across his face but he wasn't quick enough and she spotted it.

"You plan to take it by force, I have seen it. You will succeed, and then you will fail. You will be defeated and slowly regain power and support, but ultimately, it will end in death. _Your_ death. But with my guidance, we can avoid that. With my help, you will achieve greatness and no one will challenge you. Not even Dumbledore."

A noise of surprise caught in her throat when his hands curled around the back of her neck, his fingers twisting into her hair as he tugged her forward, his mouth latching onto hers with such a force, she felt their teeth knock together. He didn't seem to care or notice as his tongue forced its way into her mouth, plundering and dominating whilst one hand removed the clip from her hair, her curls tumbling down her back and over her shoulders and his hand grasped a fistful, tugging hard and angling her head as a noise of pained-pleasure travelled from her mouth and to his.

When he drew back from her, pants leaving him, his cheeks slightly flushed and his eyes darker but brighter as they reflected in the candlelight, Hermione realised she'd fisted his woollen jumper in both of her hands. When had she done that?

"I will have power? The world at my feet?"

"Well, if things are done right, Britain, at least, perhaps the UK," she offered. "But as I said, you must be careful in the choices you make should you wish to avoid the fate I have seen befalling you. And whilst I agree that changes do need to be made, I don't wish for the Wizarding World to be destroyed, by you or anyone else. We are safe here, from the muggles and their wars. This is our home."

"And what do I need to do?"

"Before I answer, I need something from you. A guarantee."

"Guarantee?" He arched an eyebrow, seeming to be unbothered by the fact his hands were still buried in her hair and they were so close, their noses almost touched.

"Firstly, you will listen to me."

"Naturally," he all but rolled his eyes.

"I mean it, Tom," she said firmly. "I know that women are overlooked, thought to be worth nothing more than a means to provide an heir so the magical lines might continue to flourish. I know we are perceived to be weak and useless."

"You are far from being such a thing," he remarked.

"Yes, but what if my advice goes against the advice of your _friends_. What if they tell you one thing but I tell you another, are you simply going to side with them because they are Purebloods? Because they are wealthy men with connections and that will one day head their Houses?"

"You are magically more powerful than all of those idiots combined. I see power, not gender."

"That did not answer my question. There are things you don't know about me, Tom. Things I may never tell you, but, just because I am not a Pureblood does not mean I am not well-connected. I know you do not care for them, I know you have their support because you've been feeding them pretty little lies, and I know you will struggle to achieve what you wish without them. I am not disputing that. But I need to know if you will favour them over me."

"You are my biggest asset, but that is not something I can answer."

"Well," she sighed, "At least you're being honest. Killing, murder. I don't want you or your followers committing such atrocities. One, it's messy and pointless, there are always other and more beneficial methods for getting what you want and dealing with issues. And two, even with magic, there are only so many ways to perform a cleanup and there is always a risk of it leading back to you, or of such knowledge being used against you. I don't care for the magic that may be practised, I do it myself, but I can't condone killing. I've seen too much of it in my life, and there is are few of our population as it is. And I most certainly will not kill for you. I don't care if you threaten me at wand point, if you vow to make my life miserable, I won't do it."

He eyed her closely, wondering if he might be able to convince her otherwise or give a little nudge, push her further.

"Very well. With Dumbledore's current watchful eye, I wouldn't allow such a risk, but I know that will no longer be an issue once we graduate. I'll ensure to keep them on a tight leash, Dolohov is the most likely culprit."

"I know, the things I've seen..." She trailed off, her gaze lowering, catching sight of the scar he'd given her. "I don't trust him."

"He will betray me?" He questioned, his voice growing cold.

"No, he's loyal to you," she assured him. "Always will be from what I've seen. I don't trust him because he's a sadistic bastard. Anyway, I need to know something, something that might set my mind at ease," she lifted her eyes to him. "Myrtle Warren. Why did you kill her?"

When his hand circled her throat, her back collided with the mattress and he hovered above her, his eyes dark, cold and furious, the only response she gave was a soft _oomph_. She peered up at him, her expression open but calm.

"Was there any need for that?" She sighed. "There is no point in trying to intimidate me, you already know it won't work. I don't fear you like everyone else. You know I can match you curse for curse, and I might remind you, my armoury is greater than yours. And not only that, I have previously made it a point to tell you I know _everything_. Tell me, why did you kill Warren?"

It was a tense, silent few moments before a soft sigh left him and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he gathered his control.

"It was an accident. I didn't know she was in the bathroom when I released the Basilisk."

"Thought as much," she nodded, feeling his fingers press into her skin at the movement. "And your biological father and grandparents?"

His eyes flashed and his grip tightened to the point she felt her windpipe being crushed, but he soon relaxed his grip.

"I didn't go there to kill them. It wasn't my intent."

"And lastly, which ties into the whole no-killing ban, so not make any more Horcruxes."

She physically spluttered and gasped as the oxygen flow to her lungs was prevented when his grip tightened. And whilst a brief moment of panic did surface, she squashed it down and silently held her hand above her head, her wand flying from her bedside table and into her grasp, Hermione painfully jabbing the tip against Tom's stomach, both enough for him to register the pain and for it to leave a bruise. It was a wonder she didn't pierce his abdomen.

He hissed in pain and his grip loosened as his eyes fell to his stomach and then back to her.

"Calm down. Don't make me curse you."

When his grip loosened further, she swiped his arm out from beneath him and when he lost balance and tipped forward, Hermione manoeuvred beneath him, using it to her advantage until she rolled them and she moved to straddle his stomach.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she warned, her pretty features set hard, her voice cold with a slight growl wrapping around the words. "I am not a pathetic, simpering witch that will fall at your feet. Should you harm me or cross me, I promise I will make your life miserable. I won't help you; I will make it my life's mission to _destroy_ you, to be a giant pain in your arse, blocking your every attempt at gaining power and prestige. And I do have the ability to do so, as we both know. And not only that, I'll be sure to bring Dumbledore along with me. I'll be sure to expose you to the world for you who truly are. And I will do all of this _after_ I've been sure to curse you so badly St. Mungo's won't know how to heal you. Do I make myself clear?"

He eyed her, his expression dark and intense, his chest rising and falling harshly, his hands gripping tightly at her hips, his magic swarming her and trying to latch onto hers, but she wouldn't allow it.

"Do I make myself clear?" She repeated darkly, being sure to dig her wand into his stomach deeper.

"Yes."

"Good," she responded, slowly drawing her wand back but not releasing her grip on it as she folded her arms.

It seemed her threat had done more than she'd intended. She wasn't oblivious to the hardened length that had formed in his trousers, feeling it partially against her arse given that she sat astride his abdomen. Honestly, it wasn't all that surprising that her threat and promise had turned him on.

"I haven't told anyone, and neither will I. It wouldn't benefit me to do so. But I warn you, Tom. Don't make any more. They are partially the reason for your defeat. Whilst it might be a bit of brilliantly advanced magic, it's existence was banned and wiped from the face of the earth for a reason, but for one book, and of course, you happened upon it," she sighed, brushing her hair back from her face. "It might give the impression of invincibility but it's not, all one must do is find and destroy the Horcruxes and no matter of the difficulty, it is possible."

"And you know this how?" He challenged.

"My father," she shrugged one shoulder lazily "I've seen one before," she confessed, her gaze lifting and losing focus. "One of my father's enemies, he made one. We had to destroy it. It did terrible things to our psyche, manipulated our emotions, influenced our actions and not for the better. I don't ever want to experience it again," she shook her head and lowered her gaze, seeing that he was observing her closely. "They do damage to the soul, Tom, serious damage. The things I've seen, you weren't _you_. You were... Inhuman. A _monster_. No mercy, no humanity, you didn't have all of your mental faculties. I want to, _need_ to prevent that. I'm not asking you to destroy any you may already have, I'm just asking you not to make any more. From what I can tell, you remain unaffected for the time being. You want my help, but that largely includes protecting you from yourself. Having ambitions is expected, but allowing it to cloud your judgement is stupid, and that's my responsibility; to see the things you don't and can't see."

She watched his expression, finding it difficult to decipher his thoughts and feelings on the matter as he seemed to be taking extra caution to keep his expression blank.

"No more Horcruxes."

She blinked slowly, surprised that he'd actually listened to her and agreed to her terms.

"How am I to succeed if I should fail by using force?"

"That's obvious, isn't it?" She quirked an eyebrow, finally relenting her grip on her wand as she set it aside and then she leaned forward, her hands pressing into the mattress on either side of his head, her gaze locking with his as her hair surrounded them like a blanket. "If you can't do it by force, you do it legally. _Politically_. Tell me, Tom. How would you like to one day be the Minister of Magic?" She lowered her voice to almost a whisper, soft and melodic. She felt his grip tighten on her hips, his fingers pressing into the cool fabric of her nightgown. "I can make that happen. The Minister has equal power to the Wizengamot, and with you currently having the backing of six of the twenty-eight families that hold seats and that's whilst you're in school, imagine what would happen once we graduate and you're able to branch out. The Blacks, I don't believe they'll take much convincing, and from what I've seen, you've already got an in with the Flints, Selwyns and Rowles, a tie than can be properly nurtured in a year or two. And let's not forget, you've the blood of the Gaunts. You might take your rightful place on the Wizengamot, giving you access to the remaining Houses and by the time you've been made Minister and you're forced to give up your seat, you've already formed relationships. As such, you are the Minster _and_ you influence the Wizengamot, and that makes you the most powerful man in Britain. Dumbledore wouldn't be able to touch you."

"You are very clever," he muttered, his left hand moving away from her hip and coming up to brush her hair behind her ear before cupping her jaw softly.

"I know. And do you know the easiest path to becoming Minister?"

"No, but I'm certain you do."

Her mouth stretched into a smile. "The MLE Department."

He scoffed a laugh.

"I know, given the magic we both practice, should someone discover our little secret we'll both be carted off to Azkaban. But isn't that the perfect disguise? No one would ever consider an MLE employee of being 'dark'. And just think, they often confiscate illegal and archaic magical items from criminals, you'll have access to that and the evidence lockers. Imagine the knowledge you'll be able to get your hands on, and right under their noses, too. No one is respected more than the MLE Department, and they've the biggest funding of the Ministry."

"Keep talking," he encouraged, his fingers sweeping over her cheekbone like a gentle breeze.

"You might try your hand at becoming an attorney, and giving your personality traits, I've no doubt your ability to charm the courtroom into giving the verdict you wish, or, you might become an Auror. Did you know the Ministry was founded in 1707? And that we are now on our 25th Minister? And did you know that a third of them had a background in law enforcement?" She tipped her head slightly. "Aurors are highly and well-respected, not only in the Ministry but within the community. You already have the grades to enter the training programme, and whilst it is physically demanding, I'm certain you won't find it an issue. And not only that, with your spell armoury, duelling capabilities and your intelligence, I'm certain you'll rise through the ranks quickly."

"Say, one year to complete the programme, perhaps two years of being a Junior Auror, three of being a Senior Auror with your own team. You'll be promoted to Auror Department Deputy Head and two years later you'll be the Department Head. And from there, you'll be made MLE Department Deputy Head, perhaps three years later, Head of Department. And then, Minister of Magic. That's not to say it's impossible to simply skip a promotion entirely. You might go from Auror Department Head straight to MLE Department Head in a matter of a few years. And this plan, you'll have achieved your goals in no more than eleven years. You'll be the youngest ever Minister of Magic, by the age of twenty-eight."

"Very clever, indeed," he muttered, his thumb moving to swipe over her bottom lip.

"This plan, it obviously requires a lot of patience, but I can't imagine manipulating the Wizengamot to your will to be too boring, especially when so many of them believe they're better than us. Oh no, they could _never_ be outsmarted by someone beneath them," she rolled her eyes.

Her arms aching after holding her up for so long, she lowered onto her elbows, barely any space now between them, her fingers subconsciously running through his soft, silky hair, seeing his eyes flutter closed for but a moment.

"So, you see, you not only achieve your goals, you not only become Minister of Magic, you not only do so legally and without the risk of someone potentially interfering, you not only get one over on Dumbledore, but you also get to manipulate a room full of Purebloods to your heart's content. Who truly is the superior classification? Purebloods? I think not," her mouth stretched into a smug, victorious smile and her eyes sparkled with mischief. "And that, Tom Marvolo Riddle, is how you successfully achieve control of Britain. Do you approve?"

His gaze dark and unflinching, his thumb swiped over her bottom lip once more, Hermione playfully nipping with her teeth. She wasn't all that surprised when she found herself on her back with Tom's weight pinning her to the mattress, her larger body crowding her and his mouth claiming her own. His hands wound into her hair and Hermione's gripped at his silken strands whilst her legs folded around his waist.

"I very much approve," he muttered, his lips brushing hers with every word he spoke.

"I know. I can _feel_ it," she smirked.

~000~000~000~

She hated him.

She hated the power he had over her body, his ability to render her speechless, to turn her brain into mush, to sate her so thoroughly.

She lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling as she worked to calm her rapidly beating heart and the gasping pants of breath that left her. Sweat slicked at her body, reacting to the chill in the room and bringing forth goosebumps.

She wasn't entirely certain why she was the only one naked. Tom had lost his jumper and shirt but was still clothed in his trousers, shoes and socks. She turned her head to look at him; his head lay on a pillow, his eyes closed with his hands clasped and resting against his bare torso. Hermione took pride in his flushed cheeks, redder lips and messy hair.

Not being able to take the cold any longer, she shifted to pull the blanket over herself, deciding that she'd cast a few Cleaning Charms once she'd regained the use of her brain and limbs. She was exhaustedly sated.

At the disruption, Tom's eyelids fluttered open, his head turning and his ice-blue gaze locking on her knowingly.

He'd gotten her off three times. Again! The smug bastard. She wasn't sure if she wished to smack him or not but she thought better of it. Knowing him, it'd probably turn him on again and she was just too exhausted. He was definitely keeping his promise of ensuring she was satisfied and it had barely been twenty-four hours. 

"Shut up," she sighed tiredly, deliberately ignoring his smirk. "Who knows about your ancestry?"

Her question taking him by surprise, it took a moment to process his reply.

"Aside from you, six, that I know of."

"The idiots?"

He snorted. "The idiots," he confirmed.

"And Dumbledore?"

"Possibly, I can't be certain. Why do you ask?"

"Well, firstly," she began, turning on her side to face him, her arm moving atop her pillow whilst her hand propped her head up as she peered down at him. "If you're to one day take your seat on the Wizengamot, you'll not only have to reveal yourself as the only surviving heir of the Gaunts, but you'll have to be able to prove it. But that's easy enough," she waved a dismissive hand, not elaborating further despite his arched eyebrow. "And secondly, I don't know if you've noticed, but you've a tendency to hiss during sex. I noticed last night, obviously, but it wasn't until later that I realised you weren't just hissing for the sake of it, you were speaking Parseltongue."

His brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought.

"You're telling me no other witch has noticed?"

"No."

She tipped her head, examining his expression as a slow smile crept onto her lips.

"Oh," she laughed in understanding. "It's me, isn't it? I'm the only one that's brought that out in you. What is it? Do I make you lose control?"

"No," he denied.

Her eyebrow quirked in challenge before she shifted beneath the covers and moved to straddle him, seeing the slight darkening of eyes as they trailed her naked form before locking gazes with her.

"Are you certain?"

"Positive."

She tipped her head slightly, her lower lip being caught by her teeth as her eyes raked the length of his torso, and despite him trying to hide the hitch in his breath, she saw the movement of his chest and the way his hands tightened into fists.

"If you say so," was her reply, shrugging her shoulders before she climbed off him, off the bed and reached for her discarded nightgown and slipping it on over her head.

"What did I say about shoes on the bed?" She narrowed her eyes unhappily before she took her leave and headed for the bathroom to clean up.

When she returned, she wasn't entirely certain if she was surprised or not by the sight of Tom's shoes and socks being by her desk, with his trousers, shirt and jumper being neatly folded on the chair, as Tom comfortably lay in her bed, beneath the covers and she assumed, only wearing his underwear.

"Again?" She groaned.

"You've a comfortable bed," he shrugged, his hands clasped together and slotted behind his head as he lay partially reclined. "Besides, is that not what boyfriends do? Stay the night?"

"Let's not pretend you have any interest in actually being my boyfriend outside of the public's eye," she folded her arms.

"I promised to satisfy you in every way," was his reply. She pursed her lips. She didn't believe him. "Are you going to spend the night in _my_ bed?"

"No, I much prefer my own. And I would much prefer it if you weren't in it."

His mouth twitched. "I'm not leaving."

"Do not blame me should you wake up suffocating on my hair," she scowled, realising he wasn't going to leave and she didn't have the energy to argue or sneak to his dorm, and neither was she sleeping on the couch. This was her dorm and her bed.

She crossed to the bed and stood beside him, looking down at him pointedly.

"Yes?" He arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Move over. It's my bed and I prefer to sleep on the right."

"I've seen the way you sleep; you take up the _entire_ mattress. Something I thought impossible given your size."

"Nothing is impossible. And that may be so, but my head is always on the right-side pillow."

"Well, I prefer the left. See? We're perfect for each other," he rolled his eyes before shifting over to the left, making himself more comfortable.

She eyed the empty space warily before reluctantly climbing into bed, snuggling under the covers and plumping the pillow before her head sunk into it.

"I swear, if you snore, I'll murder you in your sleep."

"Goodnight to you, too, Love."

His sinful chuckle filled her ears when she blindly kicked him with her foot beneath the blanket, it being the last thing she heard before sleep took her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page count: 14

**Sunday 26th November 1944**

Shuffling.

Shifting.

Groaning.

A smack to the shoulder.

Tom was wide awake, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness, his wand already in his grasp as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes swiftly scanning his surroundings and seeing nothing suspicious.

Hearing whimpered sniffles, Tom's head turned to the left, his brow furrowing at the sight of Hermione as she lay beside him. Her hands were clenched into fists, the blankets kicked off and revealing the goosebumps on her body from the chill in the room, her head tossing on the pillow her hair blanketed and a tear leaking from her closed eyelids.

Watching her, Tom was certain that her dreams were not of a pleasant nature, he was certain that she was suffering, hurt. He felt... _Odd_. He didn't like it. Seeing her suffering...It brought an uncomfortable feeling, an unexplained twisting in his stomach.

"Sorry... So sorry..."

Tom's frown deepened, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards and he leaned closer so he might better hear her mutters, make better sense of what it was she was dreaming about.

"Please... Don't leave me... I need you..."

And just like that, that uncomfortable feeling morphed into a painful, sickening knot of jealousy. She was dreaming about her ex! He was sleeping in her bed, right beside her, something he'd never done before, and he'd spent a good portion of his night fucking her to exhausted satisfaction and she was dreaming about someone else! How dare she?!

He felt like cursing her _and_ her bastard ex-lover straight to Hell.

His grip tightened on his wand, and he gritted his teeth, struggling between fighting his urges and cursing her so he might teach her a lesson, (uncaring that she'd most certainly curse him in return) but her mutters picked up once more, a little louder this time and they were accompanied by a pained groan.

"Stop! It's not mine!... I swear, we didn't steal it! It's a fake!"

She grew more restless, the tossing of her head quickening, her body shaking violently, her hands fisting into the silk sheets beneath her and her back arched unexpectedly. Tom's breath was physically stolen from him and he was forced to gasp for air when her magic burst from her, feeling it ripple in the air, swarming and suffocating him. With the force, he wasn't entirely certain how the windows hadn't been shattered or the furniture disturbed. It felt like the excess energy a bomb blast gave off, or at least, what he assumed it would.

In any other circumstance, he would've marvelled at the power she possessed and radiated but this was different and he could feel it. Her magic, as powerful and intoxicating as it was, there was something _wrong_. Hermione's aura radiated power, presence, intelligence but now, it'd been disturbed, infected by pain, loss, _fear_.

She didn't fear anything.

Right now, feeling what he did, it was highly uncomfortable and honestly? Very upsetting. He didn't feel these things. For anyone!

Setting his wand on the bedside table, Tom turned back to Hermione; unsure what to do but knowing he had to do something, he felt his magic reach out automatically. In return, he felt her magic seek him out, even in sleep, and the moment they found one another, twisting and twining together like two cords of rope, his hand brushed the cool skin of her bare upper arm.

She settled almost immediately.

His head tipping curiously, he drew both his hand and magic back, being somewhat surprised when he saw her body shift towards him and felt her magic reaching out to him. As he allowed his magic to settle with hers and his fingertips brushed the soft, pale skin of her shoulder, he hummed to himself when she settled once more.

As the moments ticked by, he observed her features softening and her brow smoothing out, her fists uncurling and her body relaxing into the mattress. She lay on her back but her head was turned towards him and tilted slightly, Tom's eyes being drawn to her throat and the thin line that travelled from one side to the other. He also noticed a small scar on her right temple and a slight indentation on the left side of her chin.

He felt her magic calming, settling down until the fear and pain vanished, leaving behind her powerful, intoxicating aura, her magic comfortably entwined with his, even when she slept. When a soft sigh slipped past her lips, his eyes were drawn to the soft, plump flesh, noting the teeth marks and redness of her bottom lip, no doubt something she'd done during sleep. Her body gave a violent shiver before she shifted closer to him, searching for warmth.

Concerned she'd catch a cold or an illness, particularly given that winter was quickly approaching and they were expecting snow to begin falling within the next week, he reached out to settle the blanket over her once more, not missing the slight spike of change in her magic, it disappearing once his hand gently clasped around her wrist.

"Interesting, _very_ interesting," he muttered, watching as she turned over in her sleep, putting her back to him.

There was something different about her. He knew there was.

~000~000~000~

Hermione woke when the first rays of light streamed through the window and with it brought a dreary, rainy day void of any sunshine. As she released a breath and made to roll onto her back so she might stretch out her body, she became aware of three things. One, she was incredibly warm, more so than usual when waking in the morning. Two, there was a hard, hot chest pressed against her back and a strong, heavy arm thrown over her waist, holding her so tightly, it was almost as if it was trying to fuse them together. Three, there was gentle, warm puffs of breath hitting her shoulder.

Lifting her head and peering over her shoulder, she felt her eyes widen upon the realisation that Tom Riddle was spooning her. From her rubbish view, all she could see was his dark lashes brushing against his cheekbones, his eyes closed and his dark hair falling over his forehead.

Never in a million years did she think Voldemort, the Dark Lord, once destroyer of the Wizarding World, would be a _cuddler_. She wasn't sure if she should be horrified or amused by the revelation and she found herself caught in the middle.

Giving her head a shake, she tried to slip from his hold but the moment he felt her shift, he tugged her back to him, his hold tightening.

"Stay still," a groggy voice grumbled from behind her.

"Let me go and I won't disturb you."

"Hmmm," was the only reply he gave, his nose brushing her shoulder and his body shifting behind her. Yes, she was more than aware of _that_ , too. How could she not be given their close proximity?

She pushed her hair back from her eyes and breathed heavily. "I never took you for a cuddler," she remarked.

"I'm not."

"Then what do you call this?" She arched an eyebrow, not that he saw, he'd still yet to open his eyes or lift his head.

"You woke me a few hours ago, tossing and muttering in your sleep. I believe you were having a nightmare; physical contact calmed you. Whenever I stopped touching you, you'd grow restless."

Hermione's brow furrowed and her lip pursed. _He'd comforted_ _her? Willingly?_

"Well, that may be the case, but I am now awake, you may let go."

"Hmmm, comfortable," he muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. This was not how she thought she'd wake up in the morning. With Tom Riddle cuddling her and refusing to let go. Her life really has been tipped upside down, hadn't it?

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, maybe around six?" She shrugged, disturbing him and he made a noise of annoyance. "Let me up, I've things to do today."

"Fine," he sighed, finally releasing her from his grasp and allowing Hermione free.

She shuffled from beneath the blanket and took a moment to sit on the edge of the bed, releasing a yawn and stretching her arms above her head, groaning when her back seemed to click and her body ached from not only the night before, but the night before that, too. She hadn't expected Tom to be so adamant about keeping his vow of satisfying her and now, her body was suffering, being forced to use muscles she hadn't in a long time.

Pushing her hair back from her face, she reached for her slippers and shoved her feet inside before she slipped on her robe and turned to face the bed, seeing that Tom was laid on his stomach, the covers pooled around his waist, revealing his pale, muscled back and he had one arm hooked over the pillow. He made no move to get up. Like a typical teenage boy.

That thought was quite jarring. It was yet another reminder that he _was_ a teenage boy; that he was yet to become the monster she knew. There was still time to save him and the Wizarding World, and he'd already agreed to her plan of using politics over force. Although, it wasn't all that surprising; her plan was full-proof, after all.

"I can feel you staring. What is it?"

"Nothing," she shrugged. "I'm going to shower... No, you can't join me," she added the moment he lifted his head from the pillow and looked to her with a questioningly raised eyebrow and his mouth twitching into a smirk.

She deliberately ignored his gaze following her movements as she retrieved her wand, left her bedroom and crossed the landing to her bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her for good measure. She was sure to be quick with her shower, not wanting to leave Tom alone with her belongings for too long lest he find something he shouldn't or he harm himself trying to access any of the warded areas in her dorm.

After drying and dressing in a blue dress with buttons and three-quarter length sleeves, she pulled her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck and brushed her teeth before returning to her bedroom, biting back a laugh at the sight of Tom awake and standing in the centre of her room in nothing but his underwear, staring down at her desk that no longer sat his clothing from the night before. The house-elves had taken them to be washed, it would seem, just as they had her clothing the previous morning.

"It's not funny," he snapped, obviously sensing her amusement and at his words, a laugh broke free.

"It is," she disagreed. "Not to worry, I'll be a gracious host and allow you to lend some of my things."

He speared her with a look so cold it was a wonder she didn't get frostbite.

"Don't be snippy with me," she chided. "When the roles were reversed yesterday you had a whale of a time, and we'd been expecting guests. As it is, there's no need for you to worry."

She headed straight past him and to her wardrobe, firstly removing a white shirt sitting on a coat hanger before she crossed to her chest of drawers, removing a pair of underwear and black trousers and then a navy blue cashmere v-neck jumper from the drawer below. When she approached and stopped before him, he tipped his head, eyeing the items of clothing she held out to him curiously.

"The shirt, underwear and trousers are yours, the ones I borrowed yesterday, the house-elves washed and returned them here, so I won't be surprised if you find my nightgown and robe mixed in with your clothes. The jumper's mine, and _cashmere_ , but with a little alteration, it'll fit you. I'll see about finding you some socks. You know where the bathroom is if you wish to shower, and there should be a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

He kept his gaze locked with hers for a few more moments before he slowly nodded and said, "Thank you," taking the items from her and taking his leave.

Whilst he busied himself in the bathroom, she headed for the living room, lighting a fire in the fireplace to help warm the room and then she padded to the kitchenette, setting the water to boil on the stove whilst she busied herself with retrieving the milk, tea and teacups and saucers that were kept in the cupboard, Hermione being grateful that Tiggy the house-elf seemed to have taken a liking to her and she always kept Hermione's cupboard stocked with tea, milk and sugar, as well as a few freshly baked treats.

She absentmindedly hummed to herself as she fixed herself a cup of tea, as well as Tom, and then she set them both down on the coffee table. After retrieving a selection of biscuits to nibble on, she summoned her school books, homework and supplies and took a seat by the fire, putting the finishing touches on her DADA homework.

Tom made an appearance in the living room, dressed for the day with damp hair and his skin still slightly pink from a hot shower and he automatically took a seat on the armchair and reached for the tea she'd prepared.

"What are you doing?" He asked, selecting a biscuit from the saucer and then leaning back into the cushions, making himself comfortable.

"I've just finished the essay for DADA, and I'm putting the finishing touches on my Charms report."

"Both are not due for two weeks," he reminded.

"Oh, you have not completed them?" She glanced up at him, both eyebrows raised.

"Yesterday," his mouth twitched.

"Well, I would have completed them last night had you not shown up unannounced," she lifted her chin and turned her eyes back to her parchment, ignoring his knowing smirk.

"Last night," Tom began, waiting for Hermione to look at him before he continued, "You spoke in your sleep."

Hermione huffed out a breath, blowing a loose curl from out of her face before she rubbed her hand over her eyes, her quill still gripped between her fingers and being careful not to stab herself or get ink on her skin or dress.

"Yes?" She prompted.

"You apologised more than once," he held her gaze, "And I am not certain to who or the reason. You also appeared to be in distress, regarding a theft, or, an accusation of theft, I believe."

He saw her flinch. The movement of the muscles in her face and the tensing of her shoulders were minute, very subtle, and he'd have missed it had he not been specifically looking for a reaction.

"As I said last night, there are things you don't know about me, things that I might never tell you. Understandably, before my arrival here, I faced many things and suffered more than thought possible. I faced danger and death every day, and it only grew worse within the last couple of years, to the point of which my father and I were forced to flee, to run."

"That is your explanation?"

"For now, it's the only one you're getting. I'm not ready to talk about the things that happened, and I'm not sure if I ever will be. And I might remind you, I am quite good at Legilimency, it would be a waste of your time should you try to get me to lower my guard so you might get a peek inside my brain."

Lowering her gaze, silence filled the room as she took a little under ten minutes to finish her work, allowing the ink a moment to dry before she rolled up the parchment and tied it closed.

"Do you believe most will now be in attendance?" She asked him.

After casting a Time Charm, they saw that it was later in the morning than either of them had realised, it being a little after nine o'clock.

"There should be more than enough present to be our audience," he nodded.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Can't wait," she grumbled. "I would say that in a few weeks it'll be old news and no one will bother us anymore, but given that it's _you_ , I doubt we'll ever be free of the stares, whispers and speculation."

"Which is why we must always be prepared and play our parts."

"I had a friend who used to say, 'if people are staring, give them a reason to do so'."

"Oh? Are we touching on the subject of public displays of affection?" He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth tugging at the corner. "The very thing you chastised me for yesterday?"

"You were being overly dramatic," she argued.

"I was being an attentive boyfriend," he disagreed.

"You were being annoying," she corrected, rising to her feet and returning her books back to the bookcase.

She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and pulled a pair of socks from her chest of drawers before slipping them on and stepping into her shoes. Taking out a second pair that might be altered to fit Tom, she drew two sets of robes from her wardrobe, gathered Tom's shoes and returned to the living room.

"You can alter these and wear them until you return to your dorm," she held the robes, socks and shoes out to him before pulling her own robes on and fastening them closed.

As he busied himself with casting the Alteration Charms, she took the teacups and saucers over to the sink and cast a charm so they might wash themselves in her absence. She then retrieved her wand and slipped it into her pocket and reached for her school bag, hooking it over her shoulder. Before she took her leave, she almost forgot her glasses and after glancing down at them unhappily, she slipped them into place.

"Are you ready to head down to breakfast?" Tom checked.

"Unfortunately," she sighed. "You, however," she paused, drawing her wand from her pocket and muttering beneath her breath until Tom's hair was no longer damp and it was styled exactly how he preferred, with the sweeping wave over his forehead. "I'll teach you it later, it'll save you time combing it," she promised. "Let's go."

She took the lead, stepping out of her dorm and into the empty third floor corridor and once Tom stood behind her, the portrait closed and they slowly made their way to the great hall. As they drew nearer on the second floor and they picked up on voices and footsteps, Tom reached out, his large, warm hand settling around her much smaller one.

She peered down at it.

"Is this not what couples do?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Is it not appropriate?"

"It is," she agreed. "Not overly dramatic or in one's face, but still noticeable."

"Good. Now, give me your bag."

"I can carry my own bag."

"Not when you have a _boyfriend_ to do it for you," he replied, deftly plucking the strap from her shoulder and placing it over his own. "Tell me, Hermione, how did you sleep last night?" He asked conversationally, looking down at her, both ignoring the students in the corridor that either fell silent or broke out into gasps and whispers.

"Terribly, you see, I had this dream in which the most annoying man alive would not let me be."

Tom's mouth twitched. "I'm sorry to hear that, but should you ever feel unsafe all you must do is tell me and I will endeavour to rectify that immediately."

"That is very thoughtful of you," she glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"I would hate for something to happen to you, and I would hate to see you so upset when I know I can do something to prevent it."

His hand came up, brushing a loose curl back from her face, behind her ear and his fingertips skimming her cheek as he drew back. She turned towards him slightly, seeing his expression serious but his eyes crinkling, knowing he was annoying her.

When they finally reached the great hall, Tom pulled her to a stop in the doorway and his eyes flashed amusedly before he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek, dangerously close to her mouth.

"I'll see you later, _Love_."

Hermione glared daggers at him and deliberately dug her nails into the back of his hand, seeing his mouth fighting off a smile. Undeterred, he simply plucked her bag off his shoulder and slipped it onto hers.

"Be sure to eat something."

It wasn't a reminder or a request but an order and they both knew it. He had, of course, noticed her poor eating habits and whilst she didn't miss meals on purpose, sometimes she just wasn't hungry. Now she knew he wasn't going to let that happen.

Giving a slight nod, she turned away from him and headed for the Ravenclaw table in search of an empty seat at the bench, diligently ignoring the weight of the stares from both the students and the professors.

Taking a seat, she set her bag by her feet and reached out to pour herself a glass of orange juice and she selected a slice of toast, some raspberry jam and an apple. Still being a little paranoid about what she ate or drank, she subtly tapped the tip of her wand to the glass, the jam coated toast and then the apple. Satisfied they hadn't been tampered with, she picked up the toast and took a bite from the corner, feeling all eyes on her as she did so, but there were two stares that held the most weight. Tom's and Dumbledore's.

~000~000~000~

Hermione had been tucked away in the library for several hours, studying for the upcoming exams she was expected to take before Christmas approached, and the results would count for a quarter of her final grade before graduation given that it was her NEWT year, and the marking system had been different in her time. She wasn't certain how long she might be in the past or expected to aid Tom, but in her time she hadn't had the chance to attend her final year at Hogwarts nor to take her NEWTs and so she was taking the opportunity given to her.

She'd been quick with eating her breakfast before she took her leave, more than aware that she was followed by Rosier and Avery, the wizards taking seats a few tables down from her and every time she glanced towards them, it was obvious they were bored and held no interest in the books and parchment that sat before them. In fact, Avery appeared to have fallen asleep at one point and Hermione hadn't been able to prevent a snigger when Rosier subtly hit him with a Shock Jinx, the wizard startling awake with a pained hiss and almost topping off the side of his chair.

As lunch approached, she knew she had to make an appearance in the great hall to keep Tom from nagging her and as she completed her sentence for her study notes, Hermione set her quill aside and allowed the ink a moment to dry, her attention being drawn when a shadow appeared on the surface of her table.

She'd been expecting Tom, or possibly Rosier and Avery so they might escort her to the great hall, so imagine her surprise when the tall form of one Albus Dumbledore stood before her.

"Professor," she greeted after quickly gathering her composure. "Is there something I might do for you?"

"Oh no, I was simply returning a number of books when I happened to see you by yourself."

 _There it was_ , thought Hermione. It was about Tom, or more specifically, her involvement with him.

"I was just about to head to the great hall for lunch," she replied, standing from her chair and closing her books and with a tap from her wand, they soared from the table and to their rightful places in the maze of books.

If only she had known about that spell during her younger years at Hogwarts; it would've saved her so much time. Now all she needed was a spell to the gather the books she required without having to go physically searching for them, and her life would be complete.

"As was I, perhaps you wouldn't mind some company?"

"Of course not, Professor," she offered a smile, covering her true feelings.

She gathered her things quickly and set them in her bag before she hung it over her shoulder and took her leave from the library with Dumbledore by her side. Stealing a peek over her shoulder, she saw Avery and Rosier following behind at a much slower pace, the two wizards whispering between one another as their eyes darted between her and Dumbledore worriedly. She can't imagine Tom being pleased when he found out Dumbledore had more or less cornered her. She wasn't stupid, she was certain he'd sought her out on purpose.

"It's a wonder that with a castle this size how quickly whispers and rumours are able to spread, do you not think?" He began innocently.

"I wouldn't know, Professor, I'm not one to partake in ideal gossip and more often than not, a book holds my attention and I'm oblivious to my surroundings."

"Hmmm, and the rumours regarding yourself and Mr. Riddle?"

"Rumours, Professor?" She peered up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion.

She noted his serious expression, the twinkle in his eye gone and unseen. He was not happy.

"That you and he are an item."

"Oh," Hermione readjusted her bag over her shoulder, "Tom and I have been spending some time together recently as we were required to complete a number of projects for our classes and not only that, we both required the same book for an extra credit assignment. With there only being one copy in the library and neither of us wished to forfeit our right to check it out, we agreed to study together. From there a friendship developed until Tom asked if he might escort me to Hogsmeade. Our relationship is relatively new and our classmates seem to be quite invested in it."

"Miss. Nilrem," Dumbledore's hand curled around her upper arm and pulled her to a stop in the middle of the corridor, the wizard looking down at her with a crease in his brow and his lips pursed ever so slightly. "Tom Riddle is an extremely dangerous young man."

"I am more than capable of handling him. He does not scare me."

"Then you are either incredibly stupid or foolishly brave. I had hoped that you would see him for who he truly is, that you would not be dazzled by his charm and appearance."

Hermione felt her magic flare and she shoved it down, not wishing to alert Dumbledore to her true magical power or potential. If he were to find out, he'd believe her to be as dark as Tom. He already thought less of her, not that she cared; she'd long since stopped caring for his opinions after learning about his transgressions, about what he'd done to Harry and Snape. But if he knew she had power of her own and she was plotting to help Tom gain power, he'd be sure to take her down, too.

"I thank you for your concern, Professor, but it is not needed. I feel I know Tom quite well and I know he would not harm me, and I am certain he is not the person you believe him to be. My relationship with him is of no one's concern but mine and his. Now, if you will please excuse me, I wish to have a quick lunch before returning to my studies. Good day, Professor."

She straightened her posture and left him standing in the corridor, her hands clenched into fists as she rounded the corner. As she drew near to the great hall, she walked past a number of alcoves, a hand darting out and pulling her into the darkness. Whilst she did release a noise of surprise, she didn't draw her wand. She felt his magic ghosting over her skin, she'd felt it as she approached and before he'd pulled her into the alcove. She'd known he was nearby.

A soft ball of light was spelled to hover above their heads and she tipped her head back, seeing Tom staring down at her in confusion.

"You're angry," he remarked.

"I'm not," she denied.

"You are; I can _feel_ it. What happened?"

She gave up all pretence of lying and released a sigh, feeling Tom's hand push a fallen curl behind her ear before his palm sat against her cheek, his thumb swiping over her cheekbone, tipping her head back a little further so he might better see her expression.

"Dumbledore 'happened' upon me in the library," she began, noting the slight stiffening of his body. "He claimed he was returning a number of books, when in fact, I'm certain he deliberately sought me out. He wished to get me alone, without you."

"What did he say?"

"What do you think he said? That you're dangerous, that I couldn't trust you, that I was either incredibly stupid or foolishly brave to be associating myself with you. He believed me to be one of the few who might see past your charm and perfect image. He feels as though I've let him down, I've fallen under your spell, fallen victim to you."

His mouth twitched, his other hand coming up to curl around her jaw, his thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

"If only he knew the truth, hmmm?" He tipped his head, his mouth stretching into a smile and his eyes flashing. "If only he knew _you_ are to be the reason I obtain power and prestige. That it was all _your_ scheming and plotting that put me in a position of power. That you are more like me in ways he might never imagine."

"I wanted to smack him," she scowled. "It took every ounce of my control not to let my magic lash out at him."

"Hmmm, part of me wishes you had, I would have loved to see it," he all but purred, his head lowering to hover several inches above hers.

"I'd have been expelled for attacking a teacher," she pointed out.

"Not if you claimed self-defence," he brushed a light kiss to her lips. "All you must say is he made you uncomfortable and touched you in a manner that might be considered inappropriate."

Hermione scoffed. "Please," she rolled her eyes. "No one is going to believe that. He's been a professor at Hogwarts for almost thirty-five years and with a perfect record. And not only that, I'm not his type," she folded her arms in-between them.

"Meaning?" He arched an eyebrow.

Oh, perhaps she shouldn't have revealed that.

"Hermione," he cooed her name, "Tell me."

"Well," she cleared her throat, "Is he married and does he have children?"

His gaze held hers for a moment before both of his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Oh, you mean he...?"

"Prefers the company of men? So I'm led to believe," she agreed, deliberately keeping Grindelwald's name far from the conversation.

"Have you _seen_ anything?"

She grimaced. "No, thankfully, that's disgusting."

He chuckled. "Well, that is a very interesting nugget of information you've just shared. Anyhow, we best get you fed before your stomach rumbles a growl louder than a lion. You did not eat much for breakfast."

"No, but I _did_ eat," she argued. His hand slipped around hers, he cancelled the charm and then pulled her out of the alcove, leading her towards the great hall. "Not only did I have tea and biscuits beforehand, you never specified how much you expected me to eat, and even if you did, I wouldn't have cared enough to listen. It's my body."

"That may be, but I need you healthy. As your boyfriend, it is my duty to take care of you when you don't yourself. You eat too little, that needs to change."

She kept her mouth closed, not wishing to argue with him in public when they were supposed to be projecting a specific image. When they stepped into the great hall, as they'd experienced that morning, stares found them. Her eyes briefly darted towards the head's table, spying Dumbledore watching them closely, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses and his lips pursed.

"You're adorable when you're angry."

"Excuse me?" Her voice rose slightly.

He smiled down at her. "Adorable," he repeated. "When you're angry, you're incredibly adorable." And to top it off, he bopped her on the nose gently with the pad of his index finger and then pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Now, go and enjoy your lunch. I'll join you in the library this afternoon," he said, his eyes stealing a glance at Dumbledore and seeing the wizard's dark expression as he stared down at his plate.

He most definitely did not approve.

As Hermione stepped away from him and headed for the Ravenclaw table, Tom crossed to the Slytherin table and took his seat in the direct centre, his back to the wall so he might have a perfect view of the entire hall but most importantly, his witch. Lestrange, Malfoy, Dolohov and Nott were already present, their plates empty of food whilst they waited for him to arrive and they offered a nod in greeting. Avery and Rosier followed behind him, taking their usual spots and nodding in greeting.

Once Tom selected his lunch from the items displayed and sipped the water from his goblet, they followed suit, only eating after he'd taken his first bite.

"Report," he instructed, his gaze on Hermione, watching as she subtly ran a diagnostic check over her selected food items before she began eating, Tom noting happily that her food portion was a little larger than what she'd eaten for breakfast. She was learning to listen to him and that pleased him greatly.

"Once she left the hall, we followed her straight to the library. She made it without incidence and without trying to deliberately avoid us," Rosier answered. "After collecting her required books, she didn't once move from her chosen desk. I'm positive she knew we were there and that we were following her, she even acknowledged me when she caught me following her through the aisles. However, she did have a meeting with Dumbledore."

"I know," Tom waved a dismissive hand, "She has already informed me of their conversation. It's nothing of concern."

"Are you certain?" Dolohov arched an eyebrow, being the boldest of his Knights.

Whilst Malfoy had his favour, Dolohov wasn't someone to be overlooked. Malfoy was set to one day take the position as the Head of House Malfoy, the wealthiest and most powerful house in Britain. Dolohov was a Pureblood born in Russia who immigrated to Britain at the age of four. Despite his purity, he wasn't a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he didn't have the power and connections he needed, but Dolohov was useful in other ways.

Firstly, the wizard had a distinct lack of a moral code or compass. He would destroy anyone who got in his way without a single bat of an eyelash. Malfoy was capable of charming just about anyone into doing what he wished or giving him what he wished, Dolohov used threats and violence.

Secondly, he was a dab hand at Charms, a prodigy if he ever saw one. Tom worked hard to achieve his grades and accomplishments, and although Dolohov did have a brain, he didn't apply himself in his lessons as he was capable of doing. He much preferred the trial and error, firsthand experience way of learning. He'd already invented a number of Charms, his first being when he was only thirteen-years-old, a second year. And that was quite impressive. Charms is where Dolohov excelled, practically, at least. And thirdly, the wizard had no fear or hesitation when asked, or ordered, to carry out a task no matter what was required.

Despite Lestrange barely having two brain cells to rub together, he was one day expected to take over the title of Lord Lestrange and manage his House and estate, as was Malfoy, Avery, Nott and Rosier. They were all to one day become powerful, influential wizards, and he needed them.

Rosier's talent lied within stealth and reconnaissance. He'd yet to meet a wizard (despite himself, of course) who could sneak about the castle and off school grounds, without getting caught or seen by the caretaker, a teacher or a prefect. He was a sneaky bastard. Incredibly so. And that is why it was always amusing, impressive and infuriatingly annoying whenever Hermione was able to give the wizard the slip.

Nott was the quietest of the six wizards, and because he was so quiet, one often forgot he was present in the room. He was easily overlooked. However, he was remarkably good at digging up dirt on people. The blackmail material he'd acquired over the years was astounding, and it ranged from something as small as a fellow student cheating on an exam, to something as big as a fellow classmate's father having sired a child out of wedlock and an affair, when the classmate in question didn't know it themselves, nor the father, for that matter.

Avery had connections in some strange and dark people and places, and there had yet to be anything he couldn't acquire when it was asked of him. From something as simple as an owl feather to something as rare and illegal as a dementor. Tom wasn't even certain if he wished to know how Avery knew a man that would sell him a dementor, let alone why.

The six wizards of his inner circle, they all had their purposes and talents, but Miss. Hermione Nilrem, his _girlfriend_ , she was his biggest, most valuable and prized asset. He couldn't and he wouldn't lose her. Not to anyone and most certainly not to the old fool Dumbledore, even if that meant he had to protect her from him as she'd most definitely just found herself on Dumbledore's shit list, her name right beneath his.

"Most definitely," Tom confirmed.

His eyes slowly glanced to each of the wizards, finding them all to be watching him closely, and then his gaze peered over at the head's table, unsurprisingly locking with Dumbledore's. The annoying ever-present twinkle was nowhere to be seen, his eyes were darker than Tom could ever recall seeing them, his brow was furrowed and his mouth pulled into a thin straight line. Most definitely _not_ pleased.

Tom felt his mouth twitch into a smile, seeing the old coot of a wizard stiffen in his seat in response.

Dumbledore didn't know it yet, but Tom had won the silent battle that had been happening between them since his first year. If everything went according to Hermione's plan, Tom would be the most powerful wizard in Britain before he was thirty and Dumbledore would be forgotten.

Tom had won.


End file.
